Chain of Evidence
by Beruldh's Babbles
Summary: Danny's on the run after the events of TUE, and has landed in DC. When a retired Gunnery Sergeant who was attempting to help him turns up dead, the NCIS team investigates. What seems like a simple mugging soon turns into a much deeper conspiracy and it all surrounds one boy. What has Gibbs and his team gotten themselves into?
1. Chapter 1

Hey All! It's been forever since I've written, much less posted, anything. I've decided I want to start writing again, so, against better judgement, I'm going to start writing a few fics! I openly admit that I have an awful track record when it comes to completing stories, but I'm hoping that, by posting online, I will at least feel some pressure to continue. I've been ridiculously obsessed with DP in recent months (I am a slut for angst of this poor ghost child) and I openly admit that this fic will fall into some common tropes (see EveryOneElseIsDead!Danny), but I hope to at least execute them well. There is a plot/kind general murder mystery whatever rattling around in my head for this, believe it or not. Hopefully I will manage to write it all out. Regardless, updates will be incredibly sporadic.

Quick note on the timeline: for DP it's just after TUE (obviously), but in this particular universe TUE is post Urban Jungle, no D-Stabilized. Basically, Danny had his ice powers and whatnot before TUE happened and CW didn't save his family. As for NCIS, I'm not sure which season/episode it's placed around (it's usually something I put on for background TV more than anything else), but it's placed while Ziva is on the team and with Vance as Director of NCIS.

* * *

"911, what is your emergency?"

"There's-there's a body on… in the alley on 9th, two blocks north of 21st."

"Sir? Are you with the body? Have you checked for a pulse?"

"They're…they're definitely dead. I can't talk for much longer—"

"Sir, please don't hang up, the police are on their way—"

"Listen, the shooter was a white male, around 6 feet, brown hair, brown eyes. He was wearing a dark blue baseball hat, a dark hoody, and jeans. It was a mugging. I—I need to leave."

"Sir, please hold on, the police are almost there—" _click_

"Sir? Hello, sir? Sir?"

* * *

"This might actually be a straightforward one."

"In your dreams, McGee. Rule number 30: no case is straightforward." Tony quipped as he took a couple more shots of their dead marine.

"I thought rule number 30 was 'always watch the watchers?"

"No, that's rule 35." Tony gave McGee a sidelong glance, "You need to study up on your proby handbook, Proby."

McGee just rolled his eyes and continued to bag the shell casings. The shooting seemed pretty straightforward: the Gunnery Sergeant was lured into the alleyway and mugged at gunpoint. The gunny handed over his wallet, but the mugger panicked and shot him. Simple. Although, McGee had to admit, the crime scene was a mess. There were four shell casings, but only two bullet wounds on their victim and they had only been able to track down one other bullet in the alley wall. The ground was covered not only in the gunny's blood but also in all the other crap routinely found in sketchy alleys on the wrong side of town. He had already had the unique pleasure of bagging and tagging week-old vomit, some weird green goo, and a used condom just to name a few. Of course, while probably irrelevant to the investigation (if the state of the gunny's pants were anything to go by), it had all been a part of his "proby training." Never mind that he'd become a full NCIS agent months ago.

"Where's Gibbs, anyway?"

"Right behind you, McGee," Gibbs tersely replied, a glint of amusement in his eyes as McGee jumped at the sound of his voice. "Do you have a time of death yet, Ducky?"

"About… 3 hours ago," Ducky replied as he pulled out the liver probe, "which puts it at around 11:30. Rather a strange time for a mugging, if you ask me. Then again, I remember I once autopsied a man who had been attacked at rush-hour on a crowded subway. It wasn't until after he had bled out, hours later, that anyone bothered calling the authorities."

"Speaking of, how'd we get this one so quickly? The body's not exactly visible from the sidewalk" DiNozzo quipped between shots.

"There was a 911 call at 11:37 this morning. The caller sounded distressed and hung up before authorities could arrive," Gibbs answered before taking another sip of his coffee. "Might be a witness."

"There's a security camera on the store across the street," Ziva said in lieu of a greeting "I'm sorry I'm late, I wasn't expecting a call on a Sunday and I was indisposed and—you don't care" she finally left off at Gibbs' flat stare.

"McGee, go get that security camera footage and see if we can get a visual of what went down here. Ziva, take over the bagging and tagging." With a quick nod, Ziva donned her gloves and McGee scurried out of the now crowded alley.

"So, do tell, what were you doing on a Sunday that left you _indisposed_?" Tony quipped with poorly concealed innuendo. Ziva just gave him a sultry glance.

"Nothing that is any of _your_ business."

Tony opened his mouth to pursue the point when Gibbs cut him off, "Got a cause of death yet, Ducky?"

"It is far too early to say with any certainty, and I won't know for sure until he's back on my table, but if I had to venture a guess I would say the gunshot wounds to his chest are the cause of his untimely demise," Ducky quipped with a sigh, "Although I'm sure you could've figured that out for yourself, Gibbs."

"But that's what I have you here for, Duck," Gibbs replied around another sip of coffee.

"After interviewing some of the residences, we've determined that there were four shots, but the gunny only has two gunshot wounds," Tony added. "We've searched the alley forwards and backwards, but we've only been able to find one other bullet in the alley wall. It's the case of the Mysterious Missing Bullet!"

"Bullets do not simply disappear, Tony," Ziva commented with a roll of her eyes.

* * *

Danny ducked into an alley and let his invisibility drop like a lead weight. Perspiration stood out on his brow and his skin was practically gray, thanks to a grueling combination of pain, blood loss, and over exertion. He took a few deep breaths to steady himself and clear the black spots from his vision before lifting up his shirt to survey the damage. The hole in his side gaped up at him, the ragged edges of his flesh opening and closing with each breath like a fish. And it was still bleeding. A lot. Way more than it should at this point; his accelerated healing should have at least stopped the bleeding minutes after receiving the wound and it was closer now to an hour. And that wasn't even considering the fact that the bullet was still somewhere inside of him; the thought kind of weirded him out. Tearing off what was left of his shirt (it was a lost cause, what with the hole and blood covering the front of it), he shredded it into makeshift bandages. Taking another steadying breath, he tried to turn his hand intangible. It took a few tries (he was way too tired for this) but he finally managed to plunge his hand into his stomach and fish out the metal bullet. It had been stopped by the back of his lower rib and was now a mangled mess. Danny shoved it aside for the moment and began to tightly bandage his side with his old T-shirt. Tying the final knot, he just sat there for a moment, too drained to even think much beyond a few simple truths: Andrew was dead. And it was all his fault.


	2. Chapter 2

The bright ding of the bell as he walked into the obnoxiously bright store was grating on Danny's already over-taxed ears. He tugged on his hoodie as he looked around, feeling completely out of place. He was very much aware that he was not this store's intended demographic. He didn't exactly fit in with the bright purple walls; Hello Kitty and Disney princess vomit; and over-priced accessories.

The store clerk eyed him suspiciously, her gaze following him around the store. His hand slid into his pocket and he fingered the bullet nervously. He felt weirdly attached to the projectile, especially considering the amount of damage it had caused. Jazz would probably call his possessiveness and near-compulsive fingering of it unhealthy. But Jazz wasn't here anymore. He took a deep breath to push the fount of grief back into the dark recesses of his mind, and couldn't completely suppress a cringe. His side still held a deep ache that alternatively sharpened and dulled with each inhale and exhale. At least it had stopped bleeding.

Danny passed up rows of too-bright nail polish, cheap make-up, and random pre-teen crap before finding what he was looking for. He fingered the fake glasses on display (did people really buy and subsequently wear _fake glasses_?) before placing them back on their shelf. He turned to walk down another aisle and 'accidentally' bumped into the display, causing a cascade of cheap plastic frames to fall onto the white expanse of the tiled floor. Danny bent down and scrambled to pick up his mess and place them back in their proper position, easily slipping a pair in his sweatshirt pocket unnoticed.

The store clerk was full out glaring at him now. Shuffling awkwardly Danny kept his head down and trudged his way over to the sales section. He had never been a particularly gifted actor, but his time on the streets had taught him a few tricks. Picking through the rainbow assortment of crap, he dug for something, y'know, _normal_ looking instead of 'attacked-by-a-crazy-crafter-with-a-hot-glue-gun chic.' After searching through his second tub, Danny struck gold: a navy beanie with one of those dime a dozen sweater patterns stenciled in grey. It was ugly. It was nondescript. It was only $3. It was perfect.

Danny meandered to the register with his purchase, forgoing conversation and simply placing the hat on the counter. The store clerk eyed him suspiciously, but said nothing as she rang him up. Her glare shifted into an outright scowl when Danny pulled out $3 in miscellaneous coins.

With his hat in hand, Danny ducked out of the shop and wandered a few blocks before tugging off his hood and shoving the hat over his unruly hair and shoving the fake glasses onto his face. The thick black frames were probably meant to appear 'hipster' or 'nerdy-cool,' but just came off awkward and clunky on his too thin face. It hurt his teenage pride, but they succeeded in hiding his face.

He knew that the smart thing to do would be to leave, to board a bus and never look back. But he couldn't. He needed to stay, to see the scumbag caught and thrown in jail. He knew the rando in the hoodie wasn't the conductor of this whole sick symphony, but Danny doubted he could ever bring the real ringleader down. He couldn't get real justice, so he'd take what he could get. Settle for pennies instead of dollars. He felt himself slowly wilt. He just wished this wasn't all so exhausting, that things could go back to the way they were before. But he had learned years ago that wishes just screwed you over in the end.

* * *

Tony slung his backpack onto his desk and, after casting a few furtive glances around the bull-pin, crossed the short distance to Ziva's empty desk. Without further preamble he began to shift through the papers left on its surface, pawing through the desktop calendar with relish.

McGee looked up from his computer monitor and couldn't help but simply stare for a long moment. "Tony, what are you doing?"

"I sent Ziva down to deliver the evidence to Abby. It'll take her an extra four minutes to get down there and hand off the evidence. Abby will distract her with a conversation that'll last anywhere from two to ten minutes, and then it'll take her another three minutes to return up here."

"What's your point, other than being ridiculously creepy?"

"My point is Ziva was 'indisposed' today. At two o'clock. On a Sunday. Something's up and I have approximately nine minutes to find out what."

"And your solution is not to talk to her, but to rifle through her things?"

Here Tony paused and pinned McGee with a glare, "Why don't you mind your own business, McGeek?" McGee just rolled his eyes and returned to his computer as Tony began pulling on drawers to see if they were unlocked.

"Looking for something?" Ziva's voice rang out causing Tony to shoot up from his crouched position behind her desk.

"Just thought I dropped paperclip," Tony drawled as he shuffled away from both Ziva and the offending desk. Ziva raised an eyebrow at his poor excuse and slid smoothly behind her desk and into the chair.

"Did you find what you were looking for?"

Tony paused, evaluating her expression, "No. But in the words of Scarlet O'Hara: 'Tomorrow is another day.'"

"I'd rather focus on today, Tony," Gibbs called out as he strode in, iconic coffee cup in hand.

"Of course, Boss! I was just telling our dear Ziva about the great American classic _Gone with the Wind_ , starring Vivien Leigh and Clark G—"

"Save it DiNozzo."

"Right, Boss."

Gibbs took a brief sip of his coffee, his cool gaze shifting away from Tony, "What've you got, McGee?"

McGee sprung from his desk, pulling out the clicker and putting Gunnery Sergeant Andrew O'Malley's picture on the screen. O'Malley was of average height and build with light hair, dark eyes, and a prominent nose. His hair was cropped short and his face lacked the stern lines of most military men. In fact with his round face, light tan, and warm eyes, O'Malley exuded a sense of boy-ish innocence at odds with his choice in career. But beneath that warmth was a steady strength that managed to bleed through the photo on screen.

"Gunnery Sergeant Andrew O'Malley, born 1980, making him 36 years old this December. He has a wife, Suzanne O'Malley who's six months pregnant. She works as an English teacher at Woodrow Wilson High School. O'Malley entered the corps when he turned eighteen and served for seven years before retiring. His C.O. gave generally good reports, as did the men under him. There are no formal complaints against him. He now runs a youth shelter for troubled teens downtown with Julia Burns," McGee pulled up the appropriate documents as they were mentioned, flipping from a photo of his wife to his military record, ending with a dual picture of Julia Burns and the youth shelter.

"Any signs of an unhappy marriage?" Tony interrupted as McGee took a breath.

McGee sent Tony a mild glare, "No, according to all reports they're ridiculously happy. Besides, I thought this was a mugging."

"Just being thorough," Tony quipped with a wave of his hand.

"We found the gun in a storm drain a few blocks away," Ziva added in. "Abby's running ballistics as we speak."

"Is that all, McGee?" Gibbs asked with some mild irritation, annoyed by all the interruptions.

"No," McGee replied with a slight glare at his teammates, "I found the security camera footage. It doesn't show what happens in the alley, but… well, you're going to want to see for yourselves."

McGee clicked a few more buttons and a slightly grainy, black and white video popped up. "O'Malley doesn't come in until later, but… well, just watch." He pressed play.

A scrawny teenage ambled onscreen, an overstuffed backpack on his back, wearing a gray, long-sleeved shirt. Way too light for the brisk autumn weather. His head was turned down, his shoulders hunched; he looked nervous. As he crossed even with the alleyway, a pair of hands suddenly yanked him out of sight. Gibbs' eyes narrowed; they couldn't see what was happening in the alley. One minute, thirty-six seconds later Gunnery Seargant O'Malley came running from the other direction and turned down the alley. Another two minutes later a dark figure wearing a baseball cap and a hoodie barreled out of the alley, taking off down the street and shielding his face from the camera. It wasn't until a full five minutes later that the original kid stumbled out of the alley, clutching at his side. Even without color it was clear that his shirt had a dark stain growing on it. His face suddenly jerked up and stared straight into the security camera and an expression of fear overcame his features before he too beat a hasty retreat. McGee stopped the video.

There was a moment of tense silence before Gibbs broke it, "Turn it back, stop it on his face." McGee didn't need to ask who.

There was another long pause. "Who's the kid?" Gibbs tersely demanded.

McGee looked nervous, "I don't know, Boss."

"What do you mean 'you don't know?'"

"I ran his face through missing persons and state police records; no hits."

Gibbs stared intently at the face on the screen for a long minute. "Keep searching, run his face through every database you can think of and then run it through the ones you didn't."

"Got it, Boss!" McGee practically saluted before returning to his computer to continue his search.

"Tony, Ziva! Go pay Julia Burns a visit, see if she noticed any odd behavior over the last few days."

"On it, Boss!" Tony practically shouted, turning to grab his backpack, "What about you?"

"I'm going to give Mrs. O'Malley my condolences."

* * *

The second part of this chapter was harder to write than I intended, but I think I worked it out how I want. It's kind of a miracle that I've gotten this up so fast, but now I've got the ball rolling and I know how I want the next few bits to go, so that's exciting.

Thank you so much to everyone who's reviewed, favorited, and followed this story-I'm actually more than a little shocked to have gotten such a response after just one chapter and I appreciate all the support more than words can say! I'll try not to leave y'all hanging


	3. Chapter 3 Part 1

Hi all, sorry for the wait on this one (especially since there isn't a lot of action….yet). I kind of wrote myself into a corner last chapter: I hate writing dialogue but I needed to write out interviews. Which are almost entirely dialogue. -_- This chapter was supposed to cover both interviews, but the length got away from me, so I've decided to split it. Sorry 'bout 'cha. Anyway, I have the next 6 chapters planned out, so it should not be as long a wait (no promises…).

Semi-important side note: I know I previously stated that I would be using Director Vance; I have since changed my mind. Director Shepard is head of NCIS.

"Why did I let you drive again?" Tony whined as he hauled himself out of the car. Ziva's driving always managed to leave him nauseous and this time wasn't any different.

"Because Ms. Burns gets off work in half an hour," Ziva coolly replied, unfazed as ever by American drivers. "I made it here in 10; it would have taken you twice as long."

"But at what cost?" Tony continued to moan as he straightened out his hair in the mirror and tugged on his jacket in a vain attempt to mask his discomfort.

"So, how has your weekend been?" Tony probed not-so-subtly.

"It's been… pleasantly surprising."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "'Pleasantly surprising?' Is that a euphemism?"

Ziva let out a short laugh, "Not at all."

Tony's face sank into a pit of confusion and sullen annoyance. "You're not going to elaborate, are you?"

Ziva simply smiled.

The peeling black letters proudly proclaimed "SECOND CHANCE Youth Shelter;" the grime in the corners of the window, bullet-proof glass, and barred door undermined this optimism. On a not-so-great part of town, the shelter was just one store front in a line of squat, redbrick buildings, sticking out about as much as an umbrella on a rainy day. There was a bulletin next to the door listing house rules, requirements for staying, and events; there was free lunch every Monday, catered by a local restaurant trying to build up a charitable reputation. As Tony and Ziva opened the door and strode in, the large brass bell affixed to the mantle jangled noisily, sounding similar to a school bell issuing the beginning of class. Or the end.

The interior was in about the same condition as the outside: generally well-maintained but clearly rough around the edges. The seating was full and there were scores of people standing in corners, hoping to secure a spot for the night. The floor a generic white and black speckled laminate tile, and the walls were a cheerful robin's egg blue with motivational posters and self-help quotes interspersed throughout the room. There were a few dust bunnies floating around the corners and the room smelled of unwashed bodies, sweat, and linen & sky fabrezetm. Tony immediately wrinkled his nose in distaste.

"I don't know what it's like back in the Promiseland, but let me clue you in on a little American secret," Tony began, leaning towards Ziva and lowering his voice as they picked their way across the room. "Don't trust the homeless. Half of them are addicts and the other half aren't all there in the head." At this Tony made a derogatory gesture with a whistle, just to get the point home.

"The first thing you learn working the streets, the homeless only ever look out for themselves. They'll cheat, lie, steal, fabricate testimony, ignore heinous crimes… anything."

Ziva paused and gave Tony an appraising look, "Don't you think that's a little harsh? There are liars, cheaters, and thieves among all manner of people. Don't you feel a little sympathetic? They're still people, even if they have fallen on hard times."

"Oh, Ziva," Tony chuckled, gaining an air of superiority, "Oh Ziva, Ziva, Ziva… So naïve. You'll learn soon enough."

Ziva pursed her lips, her gaze hardening, "I'm sure I will."

"Can I help you? You don't look like our usual clientele," a cheerful black woman interrupted, her kinky curly hair pulled back from her face. Her dark brown eyes were kind and curious, and her outfit bespoke of her no-nonsense attitude.

"Ah, yes, hello," Tony did a complete 180, "We're NCIS agents, that's the Naval Criminal—"

"—Investigative Services," the woman finished for him, glancing at the badges Tony and Ziva whipped out. "My Dad was in the Navy," she offered by way of explanation, "What business does NCIS have _here_?"

Tony and Ziva shared a look. "We're here to speak with a Julia Burns; we believe she works here," Ziva said carefully, noting the rising suspicion in the woman's eyes.

"I'm Julia Burns," the now identified Julia responded, her eyes now narrowed in distrust.

Before Ziva could respond Tony couldn't help but blurt out, "You look different from your picture." And it was true; Julia Burns in real life looked much more worn than the photographed version.

In real life Julia Burns raised an eyebrow at the comment, "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing! Nothing, just that you look… different."

Before Tony could dig himself a deeper hole, Ziva butt in, "Is there somewhere more private we can talk? We just need to ask you a few questions. You aren't in any trouble."

While it was clear Julia still didn't like the two NCIS agents, she relented, leading them back towards her office and closing the door. "What do you want?"

"You work with Andrew O'Malley, correct?" Ziva went straight for the jugular.

"Yes, he's a colleague. Why, what do you want with him?"

"Has he been acting strange lately? Any fights or threats, anything that might indicate something was wrong?"

"Why do you want to know?" Julia was clearly annoyed by Ziva's evasions, "I'm not answering anything until you tell me what's going on."

Ziva pursed her lips, then sighed, "You might want to sit down Ms. Burns."

The first signs of fear crept onto her face, "I'm perfectly fine standing."

"Fine. Andrew O'Malley was discovered dead this afternoon, shot twice in the chest."

Julia sat down heavily with a thump, the strong lines of her shoulders sagging with the news. "Oh my God…" her hand limply covered her mouth. "I can't… I just saw him yesterday!"

Ziva gazed on sympathetically while Tony just fidgeted for a moment, uncomfortable with her grief. After a moment Julia straightened, her gaze refocusing, "What do you need to know?"

"Was Mr. O'Malley acting strange recently?"

"No, nothing was different."

"Did anyone threaten him? Did he get into any fights?"

"Not that I can think of…."

"Okay. Mr. O'Malley was found on 9th street, a few blocks from 21st. That's a full hour's drive from his house, another thirty minutes from here, and not in the best part of town. Any idea what'd he'd be doing over there?"

"Well… I'm not sure. We were colleagues, friends, but not especially close. He might have been meeting up with someone, but…. Oh my gosh! I just remembered… there was something. On Friday, Andrew got into a fight with one of our regulars here."

This sparked both Ziva and Tony's interest. Tony pulled out a note pad and pencil, "Do you have a name?"

Julia hesitated. She didn't want to get anyone in trouble, especially someone she wasn't sure had any connection. These people came to she and Andrew for help and trusted them not to throw them to the wolves.

Sensing her hesitance, Ziva butted back in, "They aren't in trouble, we just need to talk with them, get the story straight. We need to cover all of our bases if we want to help Mr. O'Malley find justice."

Julia paused a moment longer before coming to a decision, "I don't know his real name, but he's known around here as D. He's just a kid, with dark hair and blue eyes. He's been around here for a while; shows up for food and volunteer work, but rarely stays the night. I didn't overhear what they were arguing about, but I was surprised. Andrew and D are—were pretty close; D stormed out after and he hasn't been by since. He's a good kid."

Tony copied the info down, immediately drawing the connection between this 'D' kid and the kid from the security camera footage, "Do you think he'll be in tomorrow for the free lunch?"

Julia bit her lip, "He usually is."

Tony smiled, "Perfect."


	4. Chapter 3 Part 2

This last bit is a little shorter than usual (and I definitely used a cop out at the end…) BUT it's up! AND I can finally get to the main plot and out of the endless holes of dialogue that are interviews. Thank y'all so much for your super nice reviews—they brought a huge smile to my face and definitely pushed me to get this done!

Not super important, but I made sure to use plants that are actually common/native to the DC area (it's actually a huge pet peeve when people mess that up; I love gardening and am maybe just a little bit a lot anal about that sort of thing). 4247 Jay Street is also actually for sale, although I definitely added my own twist to the house.

* * *

Gibbs' black Dodge Charger quietly pulled up to 4247 Jay Street. The grey-painted siding was faded and smudged, in need of either a thorough scrubbing or a new coat of paint. The ground floor windows were barred as well as the front door, and the awning covering the front door was crooked as if drunk. To the left of the door (and perhaps the reason for the leaning awning), was a wisteria vine climbing up the side of the house. While not in bloom, the spindly green leaves added warmth to the house's otherwise bleak visage. Complementing the wisteria, the front yard was bursting full of shrub rose and butterfly bush, both of which were still managing to bloom spectacularly despite the start of fall. The delicate white blooms and thick purple clusters bobbed in the breeze and were complimented by the low-lying flowers spread throughout the yard, some in bloom and some simply waiting for the coming winter.

It was clear that the house was well-loved and well-worn. Gibbs approached with reluctance.

Gibbs climbed up the concrete path with measured steps and gave the door two solid thumps before stepping back to wait. His knock was answered with a muffled "One minute!" and the sound of crashing kitchen pots and indistinct cursing. The door flew open, revealing a flustered Suzanne O'Malley, six months pregnant with her dark hair pulled into a messy ponytail, the fly-aways framing her round face. Her eyes were big for her face and hazel, framed by thick brows and high cheek bones. She had a nose that was just a bit large for her face and a soft, pouting mouth. Her generally delicate features were contrasted by her short stature and broad frame. She came up to a whopping 5'1'' and was of a sturdy build. She was wearing maternity-wear jeans and what would have been a loose top.

"Hi, do I know you?"

"No, ma'am. I'm special agent Gibbs from NCIS," here Gibbs flipped open his badge. "May I come in?"

Suzanne's eyes widened, obviously surprised to have a government agent paying her a visit, "Of course. Why are you here? Did something happen?" Even as she asked, Suzanne stepped out of the way, gesturing for Gibbs to enter her home.

Gibbs entered into a small entryway, with what appeared to be a simple but comfortable living room on the left and a kitchen straight ahead. There was a staircase across from the kitchen and a door leading to a closet or bathroom next to it. Suzanne led him into the kitchen. The tope walls and hardwood of the hallway shifted to a soft sage green and clean white tile. The window over the sink had a delicate white lace curtain and the sink was clear of dirty dishes. The white linoleum countertops were cluttered with assorted pots and pans, and other various cookware. The light brown cabinets were open and empty of their usual contents.

"Sorry about the mess, I was cleaning out the cabinets when you knocked. Scared the bejesus out of me," Suzanne commented with a slight blush. "Do you want something to drink? I have water, tea, coffee…"

"Coffee sounds great." Gibbs stood to the side of the kitchen, keeping his face carefully neutral.

Suzanne turned to dig out the coffee and coffee maker, "You never did tell me why you're here, Agent Gibbs."

"I just have a few questions about your husband, Andrew O'Malley," Gibbs carefully responded.

"Well," Suzanne managed to extricate her coffee maker and now moved to fill the pot with water, "he should be home any minute if you want to wait. He should be able to answer your questions better than I can."

"I'd like to hear what you have to say first, if you don't mind."

Suzanne cast him a concerned glance, "Okay… Fire away I guess."

Gibbs pulled out a pad and pen, "Do you know what your husband's plans for today were?"

Suzanne's brow scrunched up as she thought, "Well, he spends most Sundays around the house, when the shelter doesn't need him. But he got a call this morning, early—I was still in bed! He said that he needed to meet up with D, that it was important. He didn't say where though…"

"D? Who's that?"

At this Suzanne's face shifted into a smile, "D's not his real name—obviously. It's more of a nickname actually; he gives a different name every time you ask. They always start with a D though…. Andrew met him at the shelter and really bonded with him. He's a good kid, maybe 16; been here a few times for dinner. He's even stayed the night once or twice. He's polite, helps clean up the dishes, and snarky as hell. He's a riot!" Here Suzanne seemed to catch up with herself, "Why do you ask? Did something happen?"

"We'll get to that in a minute. Has Andrew been in any fights lately? Any threats or odd behavior?"

Suzanne's concern visibly grew. "Not that I'm aware of… Everyone likes Andrew. He doesn't have any enemies." The coffee pot beeped shrilly to indicate that the coffee was ready to serve. Suzanne grabbed a couple of mugs and filled them, handing one to Gibbs who muttered a quiet "thanks."

"We've had a bit of a hard time the last month or so; we lost half of our funding for the shelter thanks to some business mogul with friends in high places. But that's nothing personal…. Please, Agent Gibbs, what's wrong?"

"Mrs. O'Malley…"

"Suzanne, please."

"Suzanne. I'm sorry to inform you that your husband, Andrew, was found dead this afternoon."

The coffee mug smashed against the white tile.


	5. Chapter 4

Man, I keep thinking I'll post the next chapter up sooner and then not. Better late than never? Things are starting to heat up a little bit (I know one of the reviewers actually guessed premise for the main body of this chapter), and I promise I won't play cat and mouse for much longer. Danny's days are definitely numbered! Heads up for some mild self-hate and suicidal thought; it's not very extreme in this chapter but it WILL get more intense later on. If you're bothered by that sort of thing, this fic prbly isn't for you.

Thanks again for all of the favs, follows, and wonderful reviews—they definitely help motivate me to continue writing! I'll shut up now.

* * *

"What have you got, Abbs?"

"Gibbs!" Abby exclaimed, turning towards him with a bounce that caused her pigtails to sway erratically, hand on her hip. "That's no way to greet a lady, y'know."

Gibbs simply offered her a 64 oz. caffpow in reparation.

"That's much better," Abby said around a slurp, her face breaking into a grin. "Y'know I only got all of this a few hours ago, and it's an awful lot to sift through."

"That's why I gave you McGee."

"I guess, but he's useless when distracted."

"Hey!"

"Abbs," Gibbs' tone was no-nonsense, forcing Abby back on track.

"Right!" Abbie turned back towards her computer and began pulling up images and reports. "We haven't been able to find anything else on the poor kid, not even a hospital report, but ballistics prove that the gun found a few blocks away is in fact the murder weapon. It was reported stolen months ago and I haven't been able to lift any prints yet. There were four shell casings at the scene so four shots were definitely fired."

"I already knew all that, Abby," Gibbs interjected.

"I know, but this is where things get hinky!" Abby shot back, pulling up a more general photo of the alley. "Look over here, next to the wall. Notice anything strange?"

Gibbs leaned forward, squinting at the screen.

"Maybe you should grab some glasses, boss," McGee couldn't help but interject. A quick glare from Gibbs instantly shut him up. "Sorry, boss."

"Look," Abbie zoomed in on the ground, "there's a clean spot! There's just this one circle in the whole alley that's spotless. Like, concrete-poured-yesterday spotless."

"Like from a power washer?"

"Not like from a power washer. The demarcation is too clean; if it were a power washer we'd see the streaks of dirt that were swept away. This is more like… like the dirt just evaporated or something."

Gibbs' brow furrowed, "That's not possible."

"It gets even weirder," Abby shifted the picture on her monitor to a pipe, half sunk into the concrete on the fringes of the clean spot and leaning haphazardly. "See this pipe here? I managed to pull the serial number off of the photo and ran it. It was made in 2002, decades after the alley was paved."

"Then how did it get placed in the concrete?"

"I don't know, it shouldn't be possible!" Abby exclaimed in a mixture of frustration and delight; frustration at her lack of answers, but delight at the challenge. "I have a theory, but you're not going to like it."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow and waited.

"So, we know that that poor kid probably got shot, right? And that there should be blood everywhere, but I haven't been able to find a single drop that doesn't belong to the Gunny. And you see the angle that the pipe is at? It's not even remotely functional; there's no way it was placed there intentionally."

"What's your point, Abbs?"

Abby took a deep breath, "My point is, it's almost like someone… sunk it all through the concrete."

Before Gibbs could respond Abby responded for him in her gruff 'Gibbs' voice, "'Now Abby, that's not possible.' I know, I know, I haven't figured out the how yet, but it's the only explanation that makes sense! All I need is a cross-section of the concrete to see if I'm right. 'Abbs.' I'll figure it out, I promise! 'Thanks, Abbs.'"

Gibbs smirked before placing peck on her cheek, "Thanks, Abbs."

* * *

After his fifth invisible pass-by, Danny decided it was worth going in. He had vacillated between going and not going all night. Surely by now the cops had connected Andrew with the shelter, but they had no real reason to suspect that _he_ had any involvement. And wouldn't avoiding the shelter imply guilt? And the food… he could really use an actual meal. The only potential problem was the security camera, but he was pretty sure it was fake. It was so beat up and derelict, there's no way it was functional. Right?

Right. Danny took a deep breath, dropped his invisibility, and walked out from the shaded alley. He focused on keeping his stride calm and casual, but his fidgeting hands betrayed his nervousness. As he approached the heavy door a new flyer caught his eye.

In Memory of Andrew O'Malley

Tuesday October 4th, at 7pm

Join us at Robert E. Lee Park

As we commiserate over his life and the meaning he brought to all our lives

 _It's all your fault. He wouldn't be dead if it wasn't for you. Not only could you not protect him, but you brought him into danger._ Danny's chest felt tight. He couldn't breathe. _You're nothing but a burden, a freaky little boy with freaky little powers. What right do you have to exist, to waste everyone's time?_ He hardly noticed as his grip tightened on the door handle, the dark metal groaning in protest. _You should just disappear._

"Hey kid, you alright?" Danny jumped around as a heavy hand clamped down on his shoulder, his eyes flashing green in surprise. The man who had approached him was middle-aged with short, gelled hair that was probably supposed to be a hit with "the ladies." It just made him look slick.

"I'm fine." Danny replied, a little too forceful to be particularly convincing, "Why don't you mind your own business, old man?" The stranger's face soured at the name, annoyance flashing across his eyes.

"Whatever," the man waved his hand dismissively before shoving it in his pocket as he turned to continue down the street. Danny waited until he had turned the corner before finally pushing the door open and entering. As per usual, Danny's eyes flickered around the room. The usual assortment of homeless men and women were sitting at long tables, happily devouring the free meal. It looked like he lucked out—this week's main course was meatloaf. He immediately started drooling at the thought and his feet began to carry him to the serving line before he'd even taken in the rest of the room. As he drew closer his gaze turned to the servers. There was one woman who was new. He didn't like that.

Her full, dark hair was pulled into a tight ponytail that highlighted her steep widow's peak. Her sharp eyes were a little too focused on her surroundings; she carried herself with just a bit too much confidence; her frame was just a bit too defined. All warning signs.

His heart caught in his throat as Julia leaned over and whispered in New Girl's ear, Julia's gaze flitting guiltily away from him. He couldn't hear anything over the blood rushing through his ears; New Girl's eyes met his. Danny bolted. He didn't need to see her radio backup to figure out she was a cop, not when his every instinct was screaming at him to run.

The bell on the door jangled loudly as Danny tore it open. He could see the man who had confronted him minutes ago tearing down back down the block towards him, but Danny was faster. Without hesitation, Danny took off in the other direction, aiming for an alley a couple blocks down that he knew lacked surveillance. The man's breath came loud and harsh, making it all too easy to pinpoint how far behind he was. It was no contest really; the second Danny turned the corner, he vanished.

* * *

 _I knew I shouldn't have finished that breakfast burrito this morning!_ Tony bemoaned as he now found himself chasing after a kid that could have given a high school track star a run for his money. His chest burned with each gasping breath, his legs turning to jelly from the strain of keeping up. On the bright side, he had back up just a few blocks down ready to apprehend the kid and all of the alleys between here and there were dead ends—he just needed to keep the kid running.

Tony nearly grinned as the kid turned down an alley—way to make his job easier! He let off on the speed a bit as he turned around the corner, smug smile in place in preparation of apprehending their key witness. That smile melted right off when he realized there was no kid in the alley to apprehend.

"Wh-what?" Tony sputtered, still catching his breath from the herculean sprint. Before he could get his bearings, Gibbs, followed shortly by Ziva, turned into the alley.

"Where's the kid?"

"I don't know, boss. He turned down the alley and then, poof."

"What do you mean, 'poof?' Kids do not simply disappear, Tony." Ziva snipped back, exasperated at the whole situation, "Are you sure he turned down here?"

"I'm positive!" Tony retorted, quick to defend himself, "I swear, boss, he turned down this alley."

Gibbs maintained a frustrated, thoughtful expression. First Abby's 'quick-sand-cement' theory, then the disappearing kid. Something was up.

"He's clearly gone, however he managed to do it. Leave someone to watch the shelter, but I doubt he'll be back."

"What are we going to do?"

"Plan our next move. We're not going to be caught unprepared again."


	6. Chapter 5

So sorry for the crazy long wait; my life's kind of a hot mess rn.

* * *

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Julia asked, glancing around nervously and fidgeting with her newly bequeathed ear piece. Her face was the epitome of guilt and her constant fidgeting didn't help. "It just feels so… underhanded. I don't think Andrew would have approved."

"Don't worry, nobody's in trouble. We're just trying to help. We can't do anything for him if he refuses to even see us," Gibbs said, attempting to calm the nervous woman. If she was this bad on stage, their cover was already blown.

"I know, but just… at Andrew's wake? It just feels so dirty," Julia's eyes were downcast. Her black mourning attire and the dim lighting from the multitude of nearby candles made the whole scene appear sinister, painting her as the repentant sinner.

Gibbs placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, "You can do this; it's too late to back down now," and sure enough, there was already a decent crowd gathered and his agents were in place. It was clear that the wake for Gunnery Sargent Andrew O'Malley had been hastily planned; the wooden stage at the entrance to the park was a little slipshod in character and the paint still glistened in the growing candle light. They had intentionally waited for evening, the sun just barely dipping below the horizon, and there was very little lighting other than the small white candles donated by the neighborhood church. There were a couple flower wreathes on stage, the white mums and roses stark against the dark backdrop and framing a service photo of Andrew in each center. There was a steadily growing pile of flowers, pictures, and other mementos at the foot of the stage with more than a few crosses. At center stage was a lone mic.

"It's clear that this 'D' needs our help, even more so that Andrew deserves justice. What we're doing right now is working towards that," Gibbs finished, leveling Julia with an intense stare. Julia looked away first.

"Okay, okay," she finally relented. "Just… give me a minute."

Gibbs nodded, releasing her shoulder and stepping off to the side to give her at least the illusion of some space. Unlike his agents, Gibbs would be onstage with Julia as an NCIS representative; D had already seen both Ziva and Tony and he didn't want to tip him off. After several long, deep breathes, Julia turned back to Gibbs, "I'm ready."

"Good."

"How do you know he's gonna come anyway? After being spooked like that he's probably long gone."

"Just a hunch." Gibbs took a sip of coffee.

Julia snorted, "Sounds more like indigestion."

* * *

Danny wasn't very smart.

Coming from a family of geniuses, Danny felt pretty qualified to identify brilliance. Jazz and his mom? Genius, no question about it. Even his father had the touch, despite the town's ridicule. Danny knew for a fact that Fenton Works' more creative (and useful) inventions could all be traced back to his father. But going to the wake of a murdered friend while the cops are after you, knowing full well that they're going to be there searching for you? That's about as far from genius as you could get.

But what more could you expect from a C- student?

Wading through the throng of people, Danny tried to be subtle. His plan? Blend. Slip in, stay for a hot minute, and slip out, no one the wiser. He was hoping the crowd would be enough cover; he'd just be another faceless figure in the mob. His objective? He… wasn't entirely sure. All logic told him to stay far, far away, but… He _had_ to be here. He couldn't articulate why—maybe he needed closure or felt guilty or wanted to be caught and punished or some weird, messed up combination of the three. If Jazz were here she would've had one hell of a time analyzing Danny's motives; Danny, however, had no such inclinations. He needed to be here, so here he was. Classic Fenton.

He had made it into the center of the crowd without too much trouble; he had just forgotten one important fact: he hated crowds. Less than a minute in and he was already feeling clammy; beads of sweat gathering on his forehead and upper lip. He wiped it away with his shitty sweat shirt but it came back seconds later. Humans were just so _hot_. Someone jostled him and he nearly jumped out of his skin. They were all whispering incoherently, making a roar that was growing louder and louder and they were all staring and and—did someone just take his picture? It was all just too much. This was a mistake. A huge, Danny-worthy heaping mess of a mistake.

And Danny's mistakes killed.

Just as he was about to high tail it out of there, he noticed some movement out of the corner of his eye. Turning towards the stage, his eyes instantly focused in on Julia Burns. He briefly looked over the cop standing next to her (older, white man with a crew cut; probably ex-military, already expected), and failed to avoid looking at Suzanne, Andrew's widow. They had been fairly close, at least as close as he could afford to be with anyone nowadays. She was so bright, always smiling and laughing and loud; she filled up the room, no matter how big. It physically hurt to look at her now. Her belly was swollen with the baby and she should've been glowing with the excitement of her rapidly approaching motherhood. Instead she was gray, her face gaunt and her eyes numbingly empty. She looked like her heart had been shucked, leaving behind an empty shell. It was a look Danny was entirely too familiar with and it hurt all the more knowing that it was entirely his fault. This whole sick, twisted mess was all because of him. Good going, Fenton.

By now Julia had already started in on her speech and Danny hadn't heard a word. Danny watched as if in a dream as Julia gave her speech. Her eyes flickered around the crowd nervously, never settling on any one person for more than a moment. Her mouth formed caricatures of the proper shapes, the sound of her voice an alien buzz. Danny thought she looked rather like a bottom feeding fish, swimming along the walls of a tank, sucking up grime. This train of thought was completely derailed when Julia's eyes landed on him. When they didn't move on, Danny's heart leapt to his throat in a vain attempt to run away screaming. He scarcely noted her stumble in her speech over the ringing in his ears, but he was intimately aware of her glance to the special agent after.

She had sold him out.

Danny could only watch in horror as the agent spoke urgently into his ear piece, intense, pale blue gaze zeroing in on Danny like a missile on a honing beacon. Danny was shoving his way through the crowd like his inner Dash, ignoring the loud protests and complaints over his none too gentle shoves, before he'd even fully registered what had just happened. _He needed to get out of here right now._ He was free of the crowd in seconds and skillfully dodged a tackle as he began sprinting for the alleys.

"Freeze, NCIS!"

As if.

Danny was pretty confident in his running abilities at this point; his speed was hands down one of his strong suits, Fenton or Phantom. He had a lot of practice running from supped up assholes in either form. However, he was becoming more and more aware with each passing footfall that he had been _so lucky_ to have a head start last time. While most of the agents were already out of the running (so to speak), there was one that was slowly _gaining_ on him! His injury was slowing him down (still! now it was just getting annoying)—he could already tell it had ripped open again and he was beyond thankful for the dark color of his sweatshirt. He ducked into an alley, but the agent was too close for him to pull a disappearing act without potentially getting caught. Danny forced an extra burst of speed to reach the end of the alley first in a last ditch effort to pull a Houdini, but he made (yet another) fatal mistake: He looked back.

In the split second it took him to put an eye on the agent from hell—dark haired, fit, miraculously sprinting in low heels—he managed to miss the hastily parked car.

Danny smacked the car full speed, bouncing off the door and slapping onto the concrete like a fish. _SMACK_ , his head slammed into the concrete and black slipped across his vision like a blindfold for a precious few seconds. He could tell his nose was broken before he noticed the spurting blood or felt the slick ooze in the back of his throat, the sharp metallic taste making him briefly gag. Before his senses could return, he was flipped over onto his stomach with his wrists cuffed and a knee digging into his spine.

"I said _freeze_ ," the woman hissed into his ear, more out of breath than usual. Danny declined a response as stars continued to dance across his vision.

Gibbs stepped smoothly out of the car as Ziva dragged a bloody Danny up like a ragdoll and Tony finally rounded the corner, face red and out of breath.

"What took you so long, Tony?" Ziva asked, already composed again as if the mad sprint had never happened.

"I got… side-tracked, y'know, with crowd control and all that. Besides, you clearly had it handled."

"Clearly."

"So, got a name, shrimp? Y'know, with the kind of reputation you carry around I imagined someone a little… taller. And bigger. Like Jason Bourne or something, y'know?"

Danny lobbed a glob of blood at the sidewalk and leveled Tony a glare that would do Sam proud. " _Y'know_ ," Danny's tone was sharply mocking, "I always imagined a 'special agent' to be a little more in shape and, oh I don't know, younger?" He ended this statement with a smirk.

Tony somehow managed to turn even redder while Ziva cackled. Gibbs quickly silenced the two with a look.

"Sorry, boss."

Gibbs shifted his stare to their new ward. "Name, _now_."

Danny's triumphant smirk withered into a petulant pout, his jaw setting stubbornly in place of an answer.

"C'mon, kid, you've got to give us something. Do you really expect us to call you 'D' all the time?"

"Fine." Danny then adopted a look that they all would quickly learn to dread. His shoulders straightened; head tilted back; his mouth took on a mischievously smug smirk. Tony however, unaware of the danger, decided to humor him and pulled out his notepad and pencil.

"Ready, shorty?"

Danny's smirk just grew wider.

"Dick."

Tony's eye twitched. "Last name?"

Danny full out grinned, blood still running down his face, "Dickson."

Tony's pencil lead snapped.

* * *

What's with all of the fish analogies? We just don't know.

So I definitely planned to have this written and posted months ago, but (obviously) that didn't really happen. I actually wrote this on the plane and it's been finished for a few days now, but internet's kind of sketch where I am rn so…

Heads up: I'm starting a language intensive program and as of tomorrow I will not be allowed to speak, read, or write in English. Why Do You Care? Because this means I won't be able to write anything else for this for at least 2 months. The going will continue to be slow, BUT I promise I'm going to try my best to finish this story! It's just going to be a looooong road.

Thanks again for all likes, follows, and (most especially) reviews! I appreciate them all; they're always guaranteed to make my day better!


	7. Chapter 6

Remember when I said I wouldn't be updating 'til August? Yeah, me neither.

* * *

"Is this the _morgue_?" The answer to Danny's question was pretty obvious, what with the sterile, white tile floor, walls of silver shelves, and matching silver tables. This didn't stop his stomach from turning at the sight. The dead bodies didn't bother him too much—he was all too familiar with death. The brightly shining tables on the other hand sent chills down his spine. It wasn't the tables themselves so much as the knowledge of what happens on them; what could very easily happen to _him_.

"We could take you to the hospital, if you'd prefer," Ziva said as she propelled him to a desk chair and switched his cuffs around to the front, locking him to the aforementioned desk and shoving his backpack on the floor next to him. Danny had been insistent about keeping it with him at all times. Of course, they had searched it first to make sure he wasn't hiding any weapons or evidence, but all they could find were some clothes, a first aid kit, food, water, gummy vitamins, a pocket knife, and a bizarre looking thermos. They figured he could keep it for the time being.

Danny's lips pursed. "The morgue is fine."

"Excellent," Ziva smiled with a hint of triumph. Getting the runaway all the way here had been nothing short of a trial of her patience and she was glad to finally have him where he needed to be. Considering the flashy, bloody state of the boy, protocol required that he receive medical attention before they could do anything else. However, due to the rather… _sensitive_ nature of this case, Gibbs had decided Ducky would suffice.

"So you're the one that's gotten Gibbs all in a tizzy," Ducky announced as he strolled in through the automatic doors and began pulling on some latex medical gloves. "Sorry I'm late, one of Mother's corgis got ahold of one of her favorite shoes, and I had the unique pleasure of chasing it down. Mr. Palmer has neglected to answer his phone, so we will just have to proceed without him. Now, let's start with the basics. Do you have any allergies or previous medical conditions?"

Danny just stared blankly at him for a long moment, the flood of dialogue going in one ear and out the other until Ducky's question finally registered. "Is this really necessary?" Danny asked with a grimace. "I feel fine!"

Ducky raised a skeptical eyebrow as he pulled out an assortment of cotton balls, rubbing alcohol, and other cleaning utensils. "Need I remind you, my boy, that not only is your face covered in blood, but that looks like an awfully nasty stain there on your shirt? And, unless all of my medical knowledge has failed me, your nose is certainly broken."

"So?" Danny pouted, "I'm sure it looks a lot worse than it is."

Ducky hummed in reply, "Well, regardless you are required to receive medical care now that you're in NCIS custody. We can either do that here, or we can take you to a hospital, but it _will_ happen."

Danny held his pout stubbornly for another minute before slumping with a sigh. "No allergies."

"Excellent," Ducky said, "Now, let's set that nose."

Danny held his face still as Ducky positioned his hands around the throbbing schnoz. "On the count of three: one, two… three!"

Ducky expertly popped Danny's nose back in place with a loud crack, causing Danny to cry out briefly in plan. His cuffs clanked as his hands attempted to clutch his face, only to be stopped short. A few tears leaked out before he could stop them, but all in all the pain passed quickly. Nose back in place, Ducky didn't waste any time before starting to clean the blood off Danny's face with cotton swabs and rubbing alcohol.

"So, do you have a name?"

Danny scowled, "Didn't you hear? I'm Dick Dickson."

Ducky just laughed, "That's quite a name! I remember, way back when I was still in grade school, a good friend of mine who used to go by Dick. Of course, when he got older, he tried so hard to get people to call him by his full name, Richard, but to no avail. There were some pretty nasty taunts about the whole thing; it was a difficult age to be a Dick."

By this point, the blood had all been cleaned away and the few cuts on his face had been sutured with butterfly bandages. Ducky then moved to palpitate the back of Danny's skull. Danny was just impressed by the sheer amount of inane oversharing Ducky was capable of. As Ducky's fingers probed the center of Danny's rather sizable knot, Danny couldn't help but wince and hiss at the sharp reminder of today's rather unfortunate series of events.

"It seems like you've gotten a pretty nasty bump here. Luckily, you don't seem to be concussed; we'll just have to keep an eye on it for the next couple of days to be sure."

"Great. Are we done now?" Danny was itching to get away from the doctor; he really didn't want to have to explain the gunshot wound he was currently nursing, much less his miraculously healing in a few days' time.

"First I need to take a look at your side there; there's far too much blood for it to be from your nose."

"That's not blood! I just umm, spilled some coke on it. Accidentally shook the bottle, you know how it goes," Danny said with a nervous laugh, clearly not fooling anyone.

After nearly wrestling the teen half way across the city, Ziva's patience was more than a little thin. She could tell Danny wasn't going to cooperate, so she decided to take matters into her own hands and speed up the whole process. Danny saw her move, but, being tied to a table, he was unable to do anything to avoid the blitz attack. In the blink of an eye Ziva shoved Danny's sweatshirt up and over his head, leaving his face under the bulky fabric and exposing his chest and side. Their eyes were almost immediately drawn to the bloody mess that was Danny's left side where a bullet-sized hole was seeping even more blood as they watched. After taking in the fact that this kid had apparently been _shot_ , other details become apparent. His spine was knobby, his ribs defined, the skin drawn painfully taunt across bone. Despite his obvious malnutrition, there was still an obvious definition to his lean muscles; the kid could clearly pack a punch. Even worse were the scars. They were not of the variety commonly acquired; they seemed to be an odd mix of claw and teeth marks, burns, and cuts from some pretty intense blades. How did someone so young get so many injuries? And why didn't he seek medical attention after receiving a bullet to the side? They had screened all of the local hospitals and none had reported gunshot wounds in anyone under 20.

Danny managed to wrest his head out from his sweatshirt before Ziva or Ducky could regain their bearings, and couldn't help the rush of heat to his cheeks. Having an audience stare so intensely at his naked torso was inherently embarrassing; considering the state he was in, Danny was especially mortified.

"It looks a lot worse than it is," he finally said once the staring became too much. His words seemed to have a thawing affect as both Ducky and Ziva blinked and began moving again, Ducky to clean and bandage the gunshot wound and Ziva to get a better angle.

"Somehow I doubt that," Ziva quipped, unable to help herself. Danny rolled his eyes, regaining his flippant attitude.

"Whatever."

"There's no exit wound—I'm going to have to remove the bullet," Ducky interrupted, moving quickly now that he realized there was actually a serious injury. "This will hurt, but I'll be quick."

"Woah, wait a minute!" Danny exclaimed, automatically shifting his body away from the shiny prongs Ducky was quickly moving towards him. "I've already removed the bullet."

Ducky paused, obviously surprised, "How? Are you sure you got it all?"

Danny pursed his lips reluctantly, "I just did, okay? You can check my front right pocket if you don't believe me; the bullet's there. It didn't break or anything so yeah, I got it all. Just put like a Band-Aid or whatever on it and let me put my shirt back on, okay?"

Ziva followed his directions, briefly fishing in his pocket before removing a clearly mangled bullet. Danny had been right, there were no missing splinters. Ziva pulled out an evidence bag and dropped the bullet in before sealing it.

"I'll send this up to Abby right away."

"Hey, who said you could keep it?" Danny cried indignantly, "I want that back."

Ziva gave a look that clearly said he'd fallen off his rocker, "If you really want it, you can have it after we finish our investigation. But it's currently a key piece of evidence."

Danny frowned, clearly unhappy but there wasn't much he could do. At least he'd had the sense to remove any traces of his blood from the stupid thing. While Danny and Ziva had had their little interlude, Ducky had wasted no time in cleaning Danny's wound.

"I'll be right back," Ziva called as she headed for the door.

"Now, this is going to need stitches," Ducky pulled open a drawer in the desk and pulled out a full syringe. "This is just a little something to numb it up first."

Danny didn't so much as flinch when the needle broke his skin, but he was definitely thankful for the numbing agent when Ducky began to stitch the wound shut. He'd had enough experience stitching himself closed drug-free to know how much this would have hurt.

Ducky was true to his word, quickly and efficiently stitching him up before pulling out another bandage. He was surprisingly silent throughout the process, probably due to his intense focus on the wounded teen. Soon Ducky had added another bandage and was helping Danny pull his sweatshirt back down.

"I do believe you left out a few important details regarding previous medical conditions," Ducky slowly ventured once Danny was once again fully clothed. "Any one of those injuries, both new and old, could easily affect my treatment."

Danny refused to meet his gaze, instead staring intently at the connection between the table leg and the floor, "I didn't think it was important. Most of it's old, and the rest was healing just fine."

Ducky may have mostly dealt with a much quieter variety of patients, but he still had a fair amount of experience with difficult ones. However, never in all his years had he encountered someone quite so stubborn about refusing treatment; even Gibbs wasn't this bad. While the ex-marine constantly dodged check-ups and pushed himself too hard, even he would seek medical treatment after getting shot. It didn't take a psychology degree to tell this kid was incredibly damaged, and, despite his experience with analyzing criminals, Ducky doubted he had the expertise to deal with this level of emotional trauma, especially in a teenager. It was clear that the kid didn't want to talk about his previous injuries, so Ducky wouldn't push it. That was Gibbs' job.

Ducky paused a moment longer, thinking hard about what he was about to say, "I'm sure you've had a rather difficult time, but everyone here is only trying to do their best to help. I understand that you've only just met us and certainly don't trust us, but you do need to trust _someone_. It's okay to ask for help."

Danny couldn't stop the bitter laughter that flew past his lips at that, "You want me to trust someone, to trust _you_? Fat chance. I may be an idiot, but I know enough about people to know just how stupid it is to trust people. They'll only ever betray me or end up dead. I'm better off on my own."

Ducky's stomach squirmed uncomfortably at the sheer amount of pessimism coming from someone so young. "No one deserves to be alone."

Danny just rolled his eyes, interrupted by the swoosh of the automatic doors as Ziva returned.

"Is he done?"

"Yes; there's nothing more I can do for him."

* * *

"Did you really have to run the kid over, Jethro?" Director Shepard asked, clearly exasperated, "I thought he was just a witness."

"He was supposed to stop, not charge full speed into the car. Is that the only reason you called me up here?" Gibbs was itching to leave the stuffy office and prep for his inevitable interview of the previously mentioned kid.

Director Shepard frowned, clearly still disapproving, but let it go, "No, I wanted to warn you that I think it's prudent to receive a second opinion on this case. It's clear that this kid has had a difficult time lately, and has certain needs because of this."

Quickly realizing where this was going, Gibbs decided to intervene, "If you're concerned about his mental state, I've already sent him down to Ducky." Maybe not for counseling, but she didn't need to know that.

"And I appreciate the thought," Shepard hurried to finish, "But I highly doubt Ducky is qualified for such a… delicate situation. He's been trained to break down the criminal psyche in order to better understand their motives, not counsel a traumatized teen."

"Why don't we at least see how it goes?" Gibbs pushed.

Director Shepard frowned, "I'd rather not. In fact, I've already put in the request. She and her assistant should be here tomorrow."

It was now Gibbs turn to frown in disapproval, his lips pressed into a thin line, "Do I at least get a name?"

"Spectra, Dr. Penelope Spectra. She comes highly recommended in the field of teen psychology."

* * *

Deleted sentence: Ducky's expert fingers probed Danny's most sensitive spot and Danny squirmed, unable to suppress a moan.

Aaaand shit starts to hit the fan.

So hard.

Sorry not sorry


	8. Chapter 7

I really tried to wait to post this one, but I couldn't resist. I'm really enjoying writing this (if it wasn't becoming more and more apparent), and it's a nice stress reliever atm.

In case it wasn't blaringly apparent, things are going to get a lot, LOT worse before getting even a little better. No Spectra in this chapter, but she'll be appearing soon, promise!

* * *

Danny finally gave in and rested his head on top of his cuffed arms. It had already been a long day, and it was looking to be longer still. After the train wreck that was his doctoring, the 'special' agents had brought him up to an interview room, cuffed him to the table, and promptly left. At least he still had his bag; they had thrown it on the floor next to him. That had been upwards of half an hour ago, and Danny could feel the exhaustion creeping in. He just wanted to sleep, and sleep, and sleep, and maybe not wake up, but his paranoia prevented him from sleeping around so many unknowns—if he slept, who knew what would happen to him? Images of the shiny tables down in the morgue flashed across his mind. Of course, logically, he knew that he was at least currently safe from such a fate—as far as they knew he was 100% bona fide human. And cutting humans open was illegal; it was a shame ghosts weren't so lucky.

Of course, if something like that were to happen, he'd completely deserve it. As he saw it, he had caused the deaths of upwards of 10 people, and caused who knew how much emotional trauma, simply by existing. He was pretty shitty like that. Regardless, his absolute need to run, to escape, grossly overpowered his more masochistic tendencies at the moment. Just how was he going to get out of this one?

He might be able to turn invisible and shift through walls, but he needed to be alone and off camera in order to utilize it, circumstances he had a feeling where more than a long shot. He couldn't fight his way out of this one, or just overshadow a couple of cops before going on his merry way like he had in the past. He was in the big leagues now, and he didn't feel like he was up for the challenge. One thing was for sure: he couldn't tell them jack shit. _Oh, you see it wasn't_ _ **really**_ _a mugging, special agent Gritty, it was a hit planned out by my billionaire, half-ghost arch nemesis who's been tracking me across the country for the past year because he wants me as his apprentice/son because I'm the only other half-ghost in existence. Sorry._

Yeah, that would go over real well.

Before he could continue that train of thought, the door knob jiggled, immediately catching his attention as he shot his head up. Seconds later Gritty and Dicky waltzed in, files in hand. Gritty set his manila folder on the table and took the only other available seat across from him; Dicky opted to stand over his shoulder with his arms crossed, still clearly annoyed by Danny's earlier antics. Danny'd admit he hadn't been the _nicest_ suspect on the car ride here, but he still felt Dicky's animosity was a little exaggerated. It's not like he had done anything actually harmful like _break his nose_ or _hit him with a car_. Guess the feeling was mutual.

After a rather tense awkward silence, during which Danny couldn't help but start to jostle his leg, Gritty finally spoke up, "So, do you prefer Dick or D?"

Well, that wasn't the opening question he'd been expecting. Danny hesitated for a moment, deciding, "D."

At the response Dicky couldn't help but roll his eyes, hands uncrossing and tucking into his front pockets, "Really? Better idea: I'm just gonna cycle through names 'til I find one I like."

Danny just rolled his eyes in response, "Whatever, Dicky."

As expected, Dicky's face grew red and he looked like he was about to say something before snapping his jaw shut, "Whatever, David."

Before the situation could escalate further, Gritty began to speak again, "Well _D_ , I'm Special Agent Gibbs, this is Special Agent DiNozzo. We both work with NCIS, the Naval Criminal Investigative Service. We're called in whenever a crime involves a Navy sailor or Marine. Do you know why you're here?"

Danny figured he'd play dumb and see how far it got him, "Well, _yeah_ , I was hit by a car and dragged here. As to why _that_ happened, no clue. Care to share?"

"I do believe _you_ ran into the car, not the other way around, Dillon," Dicky quipped before Gritty could respond.

There was a flash of guilt in Gritty's eyes before it was replaced with determination. He finally opened the folder and pulled out a service photo of Andrew. Danny tried not to react, but he had a feeling he failed miserably; the gleam in Gritty's eyes confirmed that he had done a shitty job of covering up his recognition of the man. He really needed to work on his poker face.

"Do you know this man?"

"Nope, never met him."

The two had a brief stare-off over the obvious lie.

"Really?"

"Really."

"Then why is it," here Gritty paused and pulled out another photo from his stupid know-it-all folder, "that I have this photo of you leaving the alley where he was murdered? And why do I have testimony from two separate people stating that you two not only knew each other, but were friends?"

Danny couldn't hold his gaze, instead opting to stare off at the floor. He couldn't believe that security camera had been working. He couldn't believe they had photographic evidence of him. He couldn't believe Julia and Suzanne had told them—they were the only two he could think of that knew. Clearly the play dumb move wasn't going to work, so on to plan B: Victimhood.

"I lied, okay? It was a mugging. I don't want to be plastered as a snitch—that's worse than a death sentence on the streets," Danny tried his best to look pathetic, allowing an exhausted waver into his voice and continuing to look away as if fighting off tears. He thought it was pretty convincing; it had more than worked on many a desk cop. It made sneaking off so much easier.

Dicky's derisive snort was less than sympathetic, "Look here, _Duke_ , you can cut the poor, weak little kid act."

Danny looked up into Gritty's stone-hard gaze, before giving up on that pretense. He sighed, "Fine. How about you tell me what you think happened?"

Gritty began messing with his folder again, "We know you and Gunnery Sergeant O'Malley fought a couple of days ago. We know you asked O'Malley to meet you over at the park near 9th street, for unknown reasons. We know that whoever this is," here Gritty pushed forward a blurry photo of a man in a baseball cap for emphasis, "pulled you into the alley, luring Gunnery Sergeant O'Malley where he was shot to death. Soon after, both you and the unknown man fled the scene."

All true. Danny was getting more and more anxious, his chest becoming tight. It was hard to breathe. They shouldn't know this much, shouldn't be able to tie him so clearly to the crime. How could he have been so stupid as to leave the security camera? He should have gone and wiped it. Should have known about the trap. Shouldn't have dragged Andrew into all this. Shouldn't have killed him. He may not have pulled the trigger, but he was just as guilty. The only reason Andrew was on a certain Fruit-loop's hit list was because Andrew was helping him, or at least trying to. You'd think he'd have learned better.

"See, what _I_ think happened," Dicky's loud intervention abruptly cut off Danny's internal monologue but did nothing to soothe his anxiety; if anything it skyrocketed. "Is that you and Mr. Baseball Cap here got together to lure O'Malley into that alley. You two _co-conspired_. The only real question is why? Why'd you do it, _Dan_?"

Danny's reaction to the name, coupled with the accusation, was instant and violent. He shot up like a bullet, sending his chair flying backwards, and wrenched his hands free from their cuffs to slam them against the table, "I am _nothing_ like him, and I never will be! I _promised_ , goddammit, I fucking _**promised**_!"

Danny could only see red, rage completely blinding him and he could feel himself begin to hyperventilate. How dare they accuse him? Andrew was his _friend,_ Danny had taken a freaking bullet trying to save him, and they thought he had killed him? That he was a _monster?_ It was this last thought coupled with the looks on the agents' faces—fear and suspicion—that finally brought Danny crashing back down to earth. He blinked a few times after the blind rage abated and couldn't stop his face from flushing further. Both chairs had ended up strewn across the room and the cuffs dangled around his wrists, the chain between them broken. Both of the agents were standing, hands on their weapons and watching him warily. He had just thrown a temper tantrum. At 16. Mortified was too mild a word, shame too innocuous. Danny focused on evening out his breathing, unable to meet anyone's eyes. Slowly, so as not to startle the two armed men, Danny reached down and righted his chair before sitting and placing his hands palm down on the table.

"I'm—I'm sorry," Danny was staring intently at his hands, a sense of repulsion rising from deep in his core. He really was a monster, becoming more like _Him_ every day. "I didn't mean… I didn't mean to do that."

Danny risked a glance up at the two agents and noticed that they had stopped palming their weapons, but were still watching him warily. Danny quickly looked back down at his hands, shoulders slumped. No one spoke as Gritty—no, Gibbs—righted his chair, Dicky—ugh, I guess _DiNozzo_ —returned to his previous position, both still tense. The silent tension in the room grew until finally, Danny couldn't take it anymore.

"Um, it's Danny."

Tony blinked, confused, "What?"

Danny glanced up at Tony before returning his gaze to his hands, "My name. It's Danny."

It was obviously meant as some form of apology, but Gibbs could feel there was more. He wisely remained silent, Tony following his lead. Sure enough, Danny began to slouch further under the weight of their stares, feeling like a dog that had destroyed the house and got caught. Should he tell them? Would they even believe him if he did? He couldn't help replaying that day in his mind again like he had done over and over since it had happened.

 _He couldn't believe he was doing this. This was an awful idea. A terrible idea. It would bring nothing but grief, he was sure of it, and yet here he was, walking to their agreed meeting place. Danny sighed in resignation, instead choosing to focus on his feelings of relief. It would be_ _ **so nice**_ _to finally be able to talk to someone without any pretenses, without any lies. Besides, Andrew had borderline begged him to tell the truth, to give him the full, unedited story. Maybe… Maybe it would go better this time._

 _Of course, Danny just wasn't that lucky._

 _As he drew even with a convenient alley (no surveillance, access from both sides) about a block away from the park a sudden pair of hands grabbed him and pulled him in. He was too surprised to do much more than let out a startled "oof" as he was shoved against the wall. As the guy's features registered, Danny quickly came to the conclusion that the guy was trying to mug him._

 _"Uh, no offense, but isn't it kind of stupid to try to mug a homeless kid? I'm probably more broke than you are."_

 _The man just rolled his eyes, "Sorry kid, but you're not why I'm here."_

 _Before Danny could decipher this rather odd statement (what kind of mugging was this?), he saw Andrew run into the alley. Oh_ _ **hell**_ _no. No nonononononono. Why was Andrew here? He could take care of himself! It was about then that he noticed the triumphant gleam in his mugger's eyes._

 _"Here, just take my wallet and leave," Andrew tried to bargain, pulling out his wallet and slowly placing it on the floor before taking a step back._

 _The mugger didn't even reply, reaching around towards his lower back to pull something out of his pants. Danny realized what was happening seconds after the man pulled out the black gun, reaching out and jerking the man's arm away from Andrew and accidentally pulling it towards himself. He heard a couple of loud pops and the mugger grunted in surprise before all he could feel was pain._

 _His whole world seemed to shrink to the white hot point of pain in his side. He barely registered thumping back against the alley wall, barely heard Andrew call out his name in concern, barely heard the following two rounds being shot, saw Andrew's lifeless body fall limply to the dirty alley floor in a daze. There was a sharp ringing in his ears and his vision was fuzzy, the colors all merging together—was any of this even real?_

 _A stinging slap to his face brought him back down to the present, the_ _ **murderer**_ _'s face entirely too close for comfort. Danny was just beginning to formulate an outraged response when the man began to speak._

" _It's only a matter of time before you return to me."_

 _What the hell? Danny's confusion quickly cleared away as he realized what was really going on. This had all been organized by_ _ **him**_ _. He had found Danny. The crazy Fruit-loop had made his move. Danny was too late._

 _Message delivered, the murderer ran off, leaving Danny bleeding and leaning against a dirty alley wall with his friend's dead body._

"Kid, you still with us?" DiNozzo's voice jerked Danny out of his flashback abruptly and he blinked a few times to readjust.

"Yeah," he couldn't hide the slight waver to his voice.

"Why don't you tell us what happened?" Gibbs asked, his voice surprisingly calm and—was that sympathy?

Danny gulped before making his decision. "Okay look, here's what happened. I…I did ask Andrew to meet me. I just wanted to talk. He…he had been upset with me recently because I was keeping secrets from him, wouldn't let him help me. I was going to tell him everything," Danny glanced up again, seeing that both of the agents were transfixed, listening intently. Danny gulped before continuing on, "But I was running late. We were gonna meet at the park—not too public, but not too private either. I was nearly there when I got pulled into that alley. The man shoved me against a wall, told me to give him all of my money. I didn't have any—really, how stupid do you have to be to try to rob a homeless kid? Even I'm not that dumb. The guy was pissed, but there wasn't much he could do. Then Andrew turned the corner. He was trying to save me, the idiot. He held out his wallet to the mugger, tried to talk him down, but I could tell that the guy was panicking at Andrew coming in so suddenly. I saw him pull the gun and pulled it way, but he shot off a few rounds and one hit me. It's…it's a little blurry after that. I just remember seeing Andrew dead and freaking out and knowing that I couldn't get taken in by the cops but someone needed to report it, so I left and found a pay phone and called 911." He finished the last bit in a rush, still not looking up from his hands. Of course, this still wasn't the truth, but it was the closest to the truth he could tell without getting written off as crazy. They didn't need to know the rest.

Gibbs slowly nodded, "Okay, Danny. Did you get a good look at the man's face?"

Danny paused and bit his lip before nodding.

"We'll set you up with a sketch artist in the morning. Thank you for telling us." Of course, Gibbs could tell that he was still holding something back, something big. But this was a good start. "We're going to have to keep you here as a material witness for the investigation. That means we'll protect you; you're safe here."

Danny suppressed a bitter snort—nowhere was safe.

* * *

This whole fic is angst and a "everything that can go wrong DOES" kind of plot with a heaping pile of depression, self-harm, and trust issues on top. If you're looking for something upbeat or happy, this really isn't going to be for you. There'll be a few funny scenes and lighthearted(-ish) moments, but as a whole this is NOT a happy story. At all. I'm currently planning to give it a happy ending, but I still need to figure out how to get there—I have almost all of this planned except for the final arc, which I'm kind of struggling to resolve. But don't worry, it's going to be a LONG time between now and then (my road map for this story—which is a bulleted list of events/rxns—is over 3,000 words long and unfinished, so).

As always, thank you for the favs and follows—the reviews on the last chapter were absolutely priceless!


	9. Chapter 8

**Warning: Attempted Suicide**

(if for some reason you still want to read the rest of the chapter, just not the triggering material, the scene is secluded to the italicized section, but there will still be references after the fact)

* * *

Danny was impressed by just how creepy NCIS headquarters was late at night. Most of the building was dimly lit as nearly everyone had returned home, and the unfamiliar building's shadows danced eerily in the poor lighting. His exhaustion probably wasn't helping much. After the disaster that was his interview, Gibbs had paired him up with a new babysitter to get cleaned up and collect his clothes (apparently they were evidence). His babysitter was someone he hadn't yet seen; he was younger than the other agents he had met and seemed more innocent. He was also incredibly uncomfortable around the teen. Big surprise.

"So what's your name again? McGuire or something?"

McSomething-or-other jumped slightly at the question, obviously not expecting the teen he was watching to be particularly chatty, "Um, McGee. It's Danny, right?"

"Yeah…" Danny was out of conversation starters, the silence dragging on.

"So, uh, what do you like to do for fun?" McGee finally asked, not entirely sure what to talk about.

"Nowadays? Not much. But I used to be really into Doomed, you know, the computer game, and I guess space. Always wanted to be an astronaut—not that that's likely to happen, but still."

"You play Doomed? Me, too! What's your screenname—I'm ElfL0rd49," McGee was now grinning like a puppy that had found a playmate, his excitement palpable.

"Oh, uh, I'm gh0stboi01."

At that McGee stopped dead in his tracks, forcing Danny to stop as well, " _You're_ gh0stboi01!?"

"Um, yeah," Danny shifted uncomfortably, not sure why McGee was acting so star struck.

"The same gh0stboi01 that plays with Ch 0s88 and Fr1erTUCK69? Y'all are legends! Ch 0s88 has the most raw power in the game, Fr1erTUCK69 has the best servers, and gh0stboi01 is infamous for his unorthodox moves—no one else can replicate them. I tried for a _month_ , trying out servers, cheats, hacking the game, you name it, and I still couldn't do it. Which one are you?" He was practically jumping up and down in excitement, earnestly waiting for Danny's response. Danny blinked in surprise. I mean, yeah, he and his friends had been near unstoppable between his overshadowing abilities, Sam's cheats, and Tucker's technical expertise, but he hadn't realized they were so well known after all this time.

"Uh, thanks, I think. My friends and I used to play together; we originally tried to beat each other before realizing that if we teamed up we'd pretty much be unstoppable. I was gh0stboi01. Sorry, can't say I've heard of your screen name, but I also haven't played in forever."

"You're gh0stboi01! How'd you do it? I even tried writing new code for the software, and couldn't get it to work."

"Oh, uhhhh, trade secret," Danny asked more than said; he couldn't exactly explain that he overshadowed his computer and inserted himself into the game.

"That's fair, I guess. Want to play together sometime?" McGee was taking the rejection pretty well and had continued walking.

"I guess; I'm pretty rusty though," the I-can't-use-ghost-powers-to-cheat-around-you kind of rusty. "Sooo, are you a computer geek then?"

McGee grimaced at the word 'geek,' "I guess you could say that."

"Cool. One of my friends, Fr1erTUCK69, was a complete techy—even named all of his PDAs," Danny smiled fondly at the memory before reminding himself how that story ended.

McGee seemed to perk up a bit though after realizing that Danny wasn't about to mock him, "Why isn't he a techy anymore? Sounds like he was pretty dedicated—good at it too if his servers are anything to go by."

Danny's face closed off a bit at the question, but figured he should nip any further questions in the bud, "He died."

"Oh," McGee felt pretty stupid now; it was clear Danny wasn't over it, "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault," Danny replied, trying to brush it off, "Are we close yet?"

"Yeah, it's just around the corner."

* * *

"Gibbs!" Abby shouted as Gibbs strode through her lab doors, 60oz caffpow in hand, "I found something almost _an hour_ ago! Where have you been?"

Gibbs covered the rest of the distance to Abbie's place by her computer before responding, "Just finishing up the interview with our witness."

"The poor kid that got shot?" Abby exclaimed with a gasp, "Is he okay? Do you know who he is? Why he was there? Does he have any connection to O'Malley?"

Gibbs listened patiently as Abby got it all out of her system, a glimmer of amusement in his pale blue eyes, "All we've got is a first name, Danny. He was friends with the victim. Ducky's already had a look at his injuries—didn't you get the blood samples from him?"

Abby sighed dramatically, "That's still more info than I've found over the last few days! I don't know how this kid managed to pull it off, but there's _nothing_ on him. I've searched every database I can think of. Maybe the name will help; I won't stop looking. Ducky sent up the cotton balls he used to clean Danny up, but they're all soaked in rubbing alcohol—basically useless. I also got the bullet and ballistics is a match with the gun we found in the gutter and the other bullets from O'Malley."

Gibbs frowned at the tirade of new information, interrupting as Abby took a breath, "Did you get that concrete sample?"

"I was getting there!" Abby exclaimed, spinning around in her chair to begin pulling info up on her computer monitor, "I did get the sample, and it's just as hinky as I thought it would be. Sure enough, about two feet down is not only all the grime that covers the rest of the alley but also blood. Lots and lots of blood."

"Have you compared it to O'Malley's blood?"

Abby smirked, "Nope, but I know it's not his."

It was Gibbs' turn to give her a look and deliberately shake the caffpow, "You can stop with the guessing games, Abbs."

"You're no fun," Abby pouted but pulled up a magnified picture of the blood, "The sample is definitely blood, you can see the platelets, red blood cells, and the like, but there's something off about it. See those green particles floating around in there? It makes up about 30% of the blood and I have no idea what it could possibly be. Miss Mass Spec is currently working on it."

Gibbs looked at the blood thoughtfully, unsure what to think, before handing off the caffpow to Abby, "Thanks, Abbs. I'm sending McGee down with Danny later, but don't mention that you've found any blood around Danny. He seems to be paranoid about us getting a sample. You should also be getting some of the clothes he was wearing in the alley, along with a shirt with some of his blood on it."

"Aye-aye, sir!" Abby saluted playfully before taking a big sip of her caffpow and closing her eyes in bliss.

* * *

"Are you sure you need _all_ of my clothes?" Danny whined again, his arms full of McGees (thankfully clean) workout clothes.

"Yes, _all_ of your clothes. When you're done with your shower give 'em to me and I'll bag them. That is what you were wearing in the alley, right?"

"Well, yeah… except for my shirt."

"What did you do with the shirt you were wearing?"

"….Threw it in the river."

McGee stared incredulously at Danny who just stared blankly back.

"You know what? I'm not even gonna ask. We still need the shirt you're wearing though."

"Can I at least keep my shoes? I just got them!"

"No! Can you please just go shower and change?" A whine had entered McGee's voice at this point; they had been going through the same questions _forever_.

Danny just sighed and trudged into the shower, taking his backpack with him. McGee just shook his head at the display of stubbornness. He doubted he'd ever understand why the kid was so attached to his bag—it's not like there was much in it.

Danny, however, was stuck in the small shower stall with A Problem. His shirt had his blood on it. He had worked pretty hard up to this point to prevent them from getting any sort of blood samples—the only reason he hadn't thrown a fit while Ducky cleaned him up is because he knew all of it was soaked in rubbing alcohol, destroying its value as evidence. His shirt however, wasn't so fortunate. Sure, he could torch it with an ectoblast, but how would he explain his shirt disappearing in the shower? He needed to work smarter, not harder.

Placing the clean clothes and his bag on the bench next to the shower, he began to paw through what he had with him: couple bottles of water, Fenton thermos, pocket knife, half a bottle of gummy vitamins, a bottle of fruit punch flavored Gatorade, a couple of granola bars he'd filched, a bottle of brown pop, $2.50 in miscellaneous coins and one dollar bills, three socks, two pairs of boxers, and an extra black long-sleeved shirt nearly identical to the one he was wearing. Without looking away from everything he'd unpacked, Danny turned on the shower to cover up his scheming.

As he stared at all of his shit, a plan began to form. A stupid plan, but it'd at least buy him some time to figure out something more concrete. Maybe. At least they wouldn't get his blood; he didn't want to even think about what would happen if they ran it through a government database. The GIW would be on him faster than you can say Fenton Family Assault Vehicle.

Setting his plan into action, he dumped his stuff back into his bag and chucked it onto the floor, tore off his bloody shirt and laid it on the bench, stain side up and right-side-out. Next he grabbed the brown pop, Gatorade, and clean-ish extra shirt. He chugged about three quarters of the Gatorade before refilling the container with the brown pop, shoving the almost empty bottle back in his bag. He laid out his extra shirt next to the bloody one and took a steadying breath. Now came the hard part. Trying to copy the shape on his bloody shirt, Danny began pouring the concoction onto his clean one. The end result was far from perfect and probably wouldn't fool anyone who really knew what they were doing or looked at it too closely (it certainly didn't _smell_ like blood), but hopefully it was enough to get it into the evidence bag and far, far away from him.

Shoving his newly stained shirt to the side to dry, Danny then turned to his bloody one. This was gonna suck. Taking another deep, steadying breath, Danny reached towards his ghostly core. A gradually growing dull throbbing reminded him that he just didn't have the energy for this right now, but he pushed past it, feeling his power slowly pooling in his right hand. When he had finally gathered enough of the glowing green energy, he torched the bloody shirt, turning it into ashes. He let the energy dissipate before falling back against the wall as the room began to spin faster than the time Sam had dragged him and Tucker on the teacups ride at the fair and spun it 'til Tuck pucked. Black spots danced across his vision and his ears rang; the wall was definitely the only holding him up at this point and he was beyond thankful for it's solid, cool support.

Like everything else, the dizzy spell passed, and Danny pushed off the wall, swiping a hand across his face before finally shucking off his shoes and the rest of his clothes, peeling off his new bandages and hopping into the lukewarm shower. He would admit it had been awhile since his last shower, much less one with both soap _and_ shampoo. The luxury was actually pretty nice. He watched in morbid fascination as the water turned from brown to clear, impressed by how much dirt he'd been coated in. Breaking his gaze away from the soapy water spiraling down the drain, he nabbed a couple of pumps of shampoo from the generic tub that apparently lived here. How many people had mindlessly used it? How many more could before it was chunked into the garbage? Shaking his head, he began suds-ing up his mop of hair, working his fingers in deep to try to clean out as much as he could. His hands started at the top of his head before working their way down above his ears. His right hand ran over a series of bumps and ridges and he instinctively flinched away from the contact, not in pain but in revulsion.

 _Danny palmed the plastic, running his fingers over the rough grip and down the smooth barrel, lingering over the hole at the end. It looked like something out of Toys R Us, an appropriately masculine gift for a little boy to play soldier. He could picture a smaller version of himself running around the cul-de-sac with Tucker, taking aim at squirrels and each other, recreating popping sounds with each imaginary shot._ _ **Pew pew**_ _Tucker's down,_ _ **pew pew**_ _the bullets hit home and Tucker's eyes are glassy now, blankly starring up at the sky as his dark skin turns ashy and his cheeks sunken and his mouth gaping in a parody of a smile._

 _It was lighter than he expected._

 _Would it hurt?_

 _Does it matter?_

 _There was no turning back now; he felt committed. He had spent the last of his money on the stupid thing and he had no other uses for it. It's not like he needed a weapon—he was one. Jazz would be disappointed. So would Sam. He liked to think Tucker would at least understand. His parents would be devastated. Would they hold it against him, when he finally reached whatever end was waiting for him? Danny hoped not, but frankly he didn't really care enough to stop._

 _It was hard to care about anything anymore. What was the point? He had no future. Everyone he came in contact with died. He wasn't even protecting anyone anymore. He was useless, a freaky little boy with freaky little powers wasting space and existing where he had no right to. How would he look, when it was all said and done? Would his body scare people? He could imagine it: his head shattered open like an egg, his brain spilling onto the concrete, his blood soaking into the pavement._

 _It was such a relief to finally let go, to finally end it and make things right._

 _ **It should have been me instead of them.**_

 _Would he become a ghost?_

 _ **Guess I'll find out.**_

 _Danny raised the barrel to his head, nestling the tip in the hair above his right ear. The firm pressure should have scared him, should have made him think about what he was doing. Instead, all he felt was relief, the relief a man feels when an unbearable burden has finally been lifted from his shoulders._

 _ **I'm sorry.**_

 _He took one last breath and squeezed the trigger._

Waking up to a poor woman's screams, covered in your own blood and brain matter isn't really recommended.

By the time Danny returned to himself, the water was ice cold and suds had run down from his hair into his face. With shaking hands, Danny rinsed off the rest of the shampoo, careful as to where he placed his hands. He turned the water off right after, trying to push the dull aching in his chest into the recesses of his mind. He still hadn't steadied his hands or his breathing by the time he had dried off, and looked at his change of clothes with reluctance. They were fairly plain: a white T-shirt and gray sweatpants with a pair of socks that would serve as a temporary replacement for his shoes. He guessed he shouldn't complain too much; sure they were too big for him (he had to roll the pants up four times and they still dragged a bit), but at least they were clean. Collecting the rest of his things, he practically ran out of the stall. The less time he had to think, the better.

He shoved his old clothes and shoes at McGee who mindlessly put them into evidence bags, signing off on them to maintain the proper chain of evidence. It's not like Danny could have done anything to them in the shower, right?

Clothes properly stored and labeled, McGee took his first look at a clean Danny and didn't entirely like what he saw. While McGee had to admit that he was surprised at how pale he was under all the dirt, Danny was positively gray. The bags under his eyes looked like twin black eyes, a look not helped by his broken nose or soaking wet mop of hair, and the teen couldn't quite hide his shaking hands. He looked like death reheated. McGee considered pursuing the topic, but thought back to how secretive and reluctant the teen was to share the smallest details, much less anything personal. Tucking away his concern, he decided he'd wait until after the poor kid got a solid night's rest before pushing for anything.

"Ready to head out?"

Danny gave a non-committal grunt. McGee took that as a yes.

The walk to the lab was both faster and quieter than the walk down to the locker room and both McGee and Danny found themselves looking forward to their arrival. Danny heard the lab long before he actually saw it; techno-synth-pop music was blaring loud enough to be heard by a normal person from several yards away. As they passed through the door, Danny got his first glimpse of the forensic specialist and he was beyond surprised. He had expected some middle-aged guy in a white lab coat meticulously picking through evidence in a pristine lab. He was more than a little off.

Instead, there was a woman dressed in goth attire dancing around a table covered in plastic-covered items. Her black hair was up in pigtails that swung erratically with her movements, and she was wearing some sort of spider-inspired dress with a poofed skirt and mile high black heels. There was a spider web tattoo on her neck and he got the feeling she had a few more stashed away. If not for the feminine cut of the dress, he would almost think he was looking at a future version of Sam.

"Abby!" McGee had to yell over the music in order to be heard, and 'Abby' jumped at the unexpected noise, turning to face them and sending her pigtails swinging.

"McGee!" Abby broke into a smile, and she turned down the music to a slightly more reasonable decibel before bouncing over. "And you must be Danny. I'm Abby, in case you hadn't heard; it's so great to finally meet you!"

Danny was a little put off by her friendly demeanor; her voice was a lot lower than he had expected, but he should really expect the unexpected at this point. It's not like she fit any of the other stereotypes he had in mind.

"Uh, yeah, nice to meet you, too." Very articulate, very suave.

At the confirmation of his identity, Abby's open face transformed to one of concern, "Are you feeling okay? You look positively exhausted! Did McGee offer you water or anything? Are you hungry? I think I might have some food around here somewhere…." While not a mess, her lab definitely had that 'organized chaos' vibe going on.

"Umm, thanks, but I think I'm fine for now."

Abby looked absolutely crestfallen that Danny didn't want anything, but McGee pushed her back on track, "Here's his clothes, Abbs. He was wearing everything in the alley except for the shirt."

Taking the bags out of his hands, Abby produced a pen from the jungle that was her desk before signing off on each of the bags and placing them on the table with their compatriots. Danny glanced around, feeling awkwardly out of place. Seeing a chair off to the side of the room, he made a beeline for it and decided to give himself a break; he was practically dead on his feet as it was.

Turning around from all of her precious evidence, Abby opened her mouth to ask Danny another question only to find him passed out cold in her chair. She snapped her mouth shut, giving McGee a look that screamed 'do-anything-to-wake-up-Danny-and-die', never mind that the teen had managed to pass out with her music blaring. McGee just sighed and settled in for a long night. He just wished he had some coffee.

* * *

Still no Spectra. Using 'pop' instead of 'coke' feels so weird.

Not entirely happy with the dialogue with McGee, but I don't want to write it again so oh well.

I do have a couple of things to apologize for in this chapter, mainly the fairly weak cover-up with Danny's shirt. I researched fake blood recipes for hours, but I couldn't find any using things that Danny could logically have in his bag (who tf carries maple syrup, chocolate sauce, or food coloring around?). I really couldn't have Abby getting Danny's blood so easily though, so here you have the only thing I could think of. If y'all have a better idea, feel free to share; if I like it, I'll switch it out and credit you. I also def put in my own interpretations of Danny's powers, taking his healing to the extreme, but w/e, I like it so it's staying.

Obviously, I've been on a writing kick the last few days (and zero ability to hold back chapters), but that'll have to slow down again come Monday—I have too much work going on in the week to write much.


	10. Chapter 9

Y'all are lucky I'm so stressed atm—it's excellent incentive to write.

* * *

"Good Morning, San Franciscooo," Tony announced with a grin as he waltzed into Abby's lab, clearly feeling better after solid night's rest in his own bed. Instead of the exuberant welcome Tony was clearly expecting, Abby aggressively hushed him loudly enough that she might as well have spoken normally.

"Be quiet, Danny's still sleeping!"

"Still?" Tony did nothing to lower his voice, "Well, Gibbs sent me down here to collect the kid and feed 'em. Looks like sleeping beauty's in for a rude awakening."

Abby seemed scandalized by the prospect, "Well then Gibbs is just gonna have to wait; Danny deserves all the rest he can get." She seemed to have forgotten she was supposed to be whispering. Regardless, Tony wasn't paying her much attention, instead eyeing the kid and trying to decide how best to wake him.

"How on earth did he fall asleep like that anyway? Looks like his neck's about to snap in half," Tony was right about how uncomfortable Danny's sleeping position looked, but he didn't dwell on the thought much, instead making his decision.

"It's just a testament to how exhausted he was—further proof he should be allowed to sleep," Abby forged ahead, giving Tony a warning look as he snagged and subsequently balled up a scrap piece of paper. "I'm serious, Tony, just leave the kid alone."

Instead of heading Abby's lecture, Tony instead took aim and let the paper ball fly on a trajectory towards the sleeping teen's face. The arc was perfect, just the right balance of spin and thrust; Tony held his breath in expectation. But it was not meant to be. Seconds before the imminent collision, Danny's eyes shot open and—were they a bright _green_?—he smoothly dodged out of the way, rolling out of the chair before taking cover behind one of Abby's lab tables. There was an awkward, shocked silence before Danny peeked over the table, his hair impressively rumpled considering he slept in a chair. His eyes were definitely blue this time.

Seeing a surprised Tony and affronted Abby, it didn't take long to piece together what had happened. Concern quickly bleeding into annoyance, Danny stood the rest of the way up and threw an annoyed glare at Tony.

"Was that really necessary?"

Tony quickly unfroze, opening his mouth to speak only to be silenced by Abby punching his arm "OW!"

"No, it wasn't," Abby gave Tony a look that was easily interpreted as 'apologize now!'

Tony sighed, realizing it was now two on one—McGee had left on a coffee run not too long ago—and sucked it up, "Fine, sorry for throwing a harmless ball of paper at you."

"And…?" Danny's glare had quickly morphed into a smirk once he realized the control Abby had over him.

Tony sighed in exasperation, "And scaring you half to death."

"Only half?" Danny's eyes seemed to laugh at some inside joke, not that Tony could make sense of it.

"Well, you're still alive, aren't you?" Tony decided to just brush the comment aside, "How about I treat you to some pizza to make up for it?"

"Pizza?" Danny's stomach growled loudly at the thought, "Isn't it like a little early for pizza?"

"Not so much, kid. It's nearly one," Tony responded triumphantly, "Now do you want food or not?"

It didn't take Danny long to make his decision, "Yeah, I'm down. What's it gonna cost me?"

"Nothing much, just sitting down with a sketch artist."

Danny nodded in acquiescence and gave Abby a wave on his way out the door.

* * *

It didn't take long for Gibbs and McGee to fill the vacancy in Abby's lab, the latter returning to his computer to work.

"What'cha got, Abbs?"

Abby didn't seem too surprised either, smiling a quick greeting and spinning to her computer to pull up a couple of visuals, "So Miss Mass Spec finished with the sample, but you're not going to like it."

"What is it?"

"That's just it—she doesn't know!" Abby seemed genuinely frustrated by this fact, "I've never seen anything like it; the molecular structure is incredibly unique. I've got McGee running it through every database we can think of, but it's not going very well. We've already been at it for _hours_ ," here Abby's voice took on a hint of a whine. "And that's not to mention the problem with Danny's shirt."

Gibbs' eyebrow rose, "What's wrong with his shirt?"

Rather than just answer Abby crossed the few paces to the evidence table and grabbed the bag with Danny's shirt. Without so much as a warning, she tore the shirt out of the bag and shoved it in Gibbs' face. After Gibbs' initial recoil from the supposedly bloody shirt he noticed an odd odor.

"Is that… cola?"

"Coke to be exact, mixed with some fruit punch flavored Gatorade. I noticed it looked odd when I first pulled it out; I don't know what I was expecting when I tested it, but it definitely wasn't this," Abby seemed exasperated; she hated it when evidence was messed with. "I don't know why, but for some reason Danny really doesn't want us to have a blood sample."

Gibbs' eyebrows furrowed in thought before turning a reproachful look towards McGee, "How about you, McGee? Care to explain why our witness apparently bleeds cola?"

The fear in McGee's eyes was obvious even from across the room—he hadn't messed up that badly in _months_. Before he could get out much more than an articulate "uhhhhh," his computer started beeping. His eyes immediately snapped back to the monitor and he couldn't hide his relief, "Looks like I've got a hit on the mystery substance!" He really hoped this could make Gibbs overlook his mistake.

"Really! Let me see," Abby bounced over followed by a less enthusiastic Gibbs. Unfortunately, none of them got to see as the second McGee clicked on the results, his computer started sounding off all sorts of warnings and error messages. McGee quickly reacted, his fingers flying across his keyboard as various files flew across the screen.

"What's happening?" Gibbs, not entirely familiar with most modern technology, knew enough to recognize that something was wrong even if he didn't know exactly what it was.

"We're being hacked!" Abby exclaimed, clearly offended; McGee seemed to be too focused to response. "They must have laid a trap on the info we were trying to see that was activated as soon as we tried to access it."

"They're trying to steal all of our info on the case!" McGee exclaimed, eyes never straying and fingers not stopping.

"Well, stop them, McGee!" Gibbs demanded as if it were as simple as asking them to leave.

"I'm trying, boss, but they're good, and they caught me by surprise," sweat began dripping down McGee's brow, "I don't think I can stop them from seeing anything at this point, but I can stop them from tampering with any of it." Sure enough, after sifting through the case's files, the hacker tried to move them to their own computer. "Just a few more seconds… There!" With McGee's exclamation the computer returned to normal, all of the warnings and alerts closing. "Sorry, boss, but they definitely managed to look through our files—they didn't get a copy though."

Gibbs looked thoughtful, "Don't apologize, it's a sign of weakness."

Abby still just looked surprised, "Where on earth were you looking, McGee?"

"Some obscure branch of the government called the GIW."

* * *

An expensive, heavily tinted black car smoothly pulled up to NCIS headquarters' security checkpoint, the engine a quiet purr as it was put into park. The young guard on duty stepped out from his kiosk and rapped on the driver's window. Without further prompting the window was rolled down, revealing a rather short man with a thick mustache and dark shades covering his eyes. His graying hair, coupled with a black bowtie and red sweater vest, gave off a butler-y vibe that matched his role as chauffer.

"Name and ID, please," the officer was bored, the question coming out in a well-rehearsed monotone. The short man smoothly pulled out two IDs and handed them over to the officer.

"Bertrand Ward and Penelope Spectra; Director Shepard is expecting us," the newly dubbed Bertrand's voice rolled off the tongue with ease, clearly confident in their acceptance onto the property.

The officer looked over the IDs before glancing back up at Bertrand, "I'm going to need you to roll down the back window too; I need to see both of you."

Bertrand complied, rolling down the back window and revealing Dr. Penelope Spectra. Her red hair was pulled up into a professional bun, her sharp widow's peak framing her smooth, young face and confident smirk. Her black blazer and matching pencil skirt did nothing to hide her lean, feminine frame and the young officer couldn't help but notice that the top button on her white blouse had come undone, revealing the slightest hint of lace. Of course, Spectra noticed his gaze and relished in his attention, using his attraction as a mirror for her vanity. It's not like she cared for such an insignificant human, after all.

After snapping his jaw shut, the guard returned their IDs and waved them through, convinced of their right to be there. Both of the windows rolled back up and the car rolled forward towards visitor's parking. Spectra uncrossed and re-crossed her legs, sighing as she re-buttoned her blouse—professionalism was required for the meeting with the Director. From what she'd heard, the Director was a woman, and, unfortunately, straight. One less advantage. Not that they were particularly necessary at this point; she had long since established herself as the leading authority on traumatized teens, particularly ones involved in criminal investigations.

Spectra's ever-present grin only widened as she thought about what a wonderful gig she had going at the moment. It was only too easy to manipulate young victims into doing whatever it is she wanted. All it took were a couple of private sessions with her, a nightly visit or two from Bertrand (in the appropriate form, of course), and they simply cracked like an egg. Prosecutors were happy to have talking, cooperative witnesses; she was happy to suck off their misery for her personal rejuvenation; Bertrand got to scare the afterlife out of people—it was a win-win. Well, maybe not for her food, but it's not like they actually mattered. No, Penelope Spectra was living the good life. She only had one regret, one delightfully delicious meal that managed to get away: freaky little Danny Fenton.

She couldn't help but lick her lips at the thought—so much misery in one convenient little package, and he hadn't even experienced half the tragedy the kids she now worked with had! Of course, just like every other ghost, she had heard about the explosion, how Danny's family and friends had not only died, but done so right in front of the little freak's eyes. That combined with the last year or so on the run from Vlad… she could hardly imagine how absolutely scrumptious he must now be! Not to mention the sizable bounty on his head curtesy of one Vlad Masters. Her mouth watered at the thought as she fantasized about Danny's misery like most women fantasize about a particularly delectable morsel of chocolate.

But, unfortunately, the ghost child had disappeared practically without a trace about a year back. What was a girl to do?

Spectra straightened her blazer, setting her shoulders and putting on her professional face as the elevator dinged and the doors opened. Bertrand, ever the faithful servant, was two steps behind her as she walked out onto the main floor of NCIS. A maze of cubicles lay to her left while a wall of windows was to her right. She knew from previous emails that the Director's office was straight ahead and up the stairs, down the hall on the left. Without hesitation, Spectra strode down the faux hallway, green eyes giving the room a cursory scan. At least, until she saw a dark haired boy give out a puff of mist and stiffen, looking around for the threat. Spectra couldn't contain her grin of glee as she finally got a good look at a shocked Daniel Jackson Fenton.

She couldn't believe her luck. She had been called in to counsel a runaway who had witnessed a mugging gone wrong; she had never in her wildest dreams believed that it could possibly be _him_. She could sense the absolutely misery pouring off of him from across the room, a flavor now enhanced with fear. She wished she had a camera as his face was equally priceless: he had frozen upon seeing her, his eyes wide and mouth gaping in horror. No doubt he knew exactly who she was here to see. Forcing herself not to stare, Spectra waltzed past and privately enjoyed her appetizer, the growing emotion whetting her palate. She didn't want to preemptively tip her hand, so she continued up to Director Shepard's office, pretending not to recognize the teen.

The door to Director Shepard's office was open, leading into a waiting room with a secretary sitting behind a desk (and a mountain of paperwork) and a couple of sofas for waiting parties.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Spectra and this is my assistant, Mr. Ward. We have a meeting scheduled with Director Shepard."

"Of course, just let me inform Director Shepard that you're here," the secretary responded between forms, recognizing the odd name from the Director's schedule. She picked up her phone, dialing in the Director's extension; the Director picked up after the first ring. "Hello, Director, Dr. Spectra and her assistant, Mr. Ward, are here to see you. Should I send them on in?" There were a few seconds of silence as the Director responded before the secretary smiled, "Of course, Director."

Almost immediately after hanging up the phone, the doors leading to Director Shepard's private office opened, revealing the tall redhead, although her hair was not as vibrant as and much shorter than her guest's. "Thank you, Cynthia. I hope you haven't been left waiting, Dr. Spectra."

Spectra smiled charmingly in response, "Oh, of course not, Director; we have only just arrived."

"Excellent," here Shepard waved the two into her private quarters, "Would you like some tea? Coffee?"

"Tea would be lovely, thank you," Spectra maintained her winning smile as she waltzed into the office, taking a seat in one of two plush chairs. Bertrand opted to stand behind her, folder handy and ready to pass along any necessary documents.

"Cynthia, please bring by some tea when you have a moment."

"Of course, Director."

Shepard smiled before closing the doors, seating herself behind her desk and clasping her hands in front of her, "Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice; I know that you're a busy woman."

"Oh, it was no problem, really; anything to help a teen in need," Spectra responded in her sugary voice that she reserved exclusively for these sorts of meetings.

Shepard seemed a little put off by the cavity inducing tone, but pushed it aside—Spectra was the leading expert in her field for a reason, condescending or not. Cynthia returned a moment later with a tray of tea, placing it down on the small coffee table between the two chairs and transferring one of the cups to the Director's desk. Shepard thanked her once again as the secretary made her leave, closing the door behind her with a click.

"Before I begin my sessions, I was wondering if you could tell me a little bit about the poor, lost teen," Spectra asked before sipping from her tea (two lemon slices, no sugar).

Shepard paused a moment in thought before replying, "I honestly don't know too terribly much; Special Agent Gibbs, the agent assigned to the case, knows a lot more than I do. From what I've seen, the boy—he goes by Danny, I believe—has pretty severe trust issues as well as an unstable temper. I can tell he's a good kid, but he's obviously been through a lot."

Spectra hmm'd in thought before responding, "I see that a lot in my line of work, but don't worry—in just a few sessions I'm sure we'll be able to see dramatic improvement!"

Shepard smiled around her tea, "That's the hope. I've set up a conference room down the hall for your use; you shouldn't be interrupted and will have the necessary privacy."

"That's so thoughtful of you," Shepard missed the gleam in Spectra's eyes as she took another long sip of tea, "If you don't mind, I think I'll go ahead and set up. The sooner I'm ready, the sooner we can turn this kid's frown upside-down!"

Shepard grimaced once again at the cheesy one-liner, but nodded her assent, "I'll have Agent Gibbs bring the boy up."

* * *

Pretty important chapter, but I still have a few twists I haven't introduced.

The whole wake up scene was pretty trope-ic, but what can I say? I couldn't resist.

I feel like 'Guys In White' is def a nickname for the GIW, but I'm too lazy to think of my own title so w/e, they'll just be the 'GIW.' And let's be honest, someone who's obsessed with eternal youth/beauty would be a total attention whore.


	11. Chapter 10

Sorry guys, but this is gonna be a bit of a lengthy author's note (my debate side is def showing). If you want to skip most of it, please at least note the name for the GIW at the end—I bolded it.

I've received a lot of mixed reviews about the introduction of Spectra into this story; I received one in particular that commented on how Spectra just doesn't work in the NCIS verse bc the adults aren't stupid (or at least not as oblivious as the DP counterparts are). However, I would argue that she makes the most sense out of all of Danny's ghostly enemies (other than Vlad)—she actually has a human identity and job, and she has shown intelligence, strategy, and the ability to manipulate. I referenced this some in the last chapter (and I intend on clarifying further once we actually get into the story), but she has worked hard over the last year to rebuild her reputation through no small amount of manipulation (both mundane and more ghostly methods). The initial few jobs would definitely have required a combination of overshadowing, emotional manipulation, and possible sex appeal to get, but after her incredible success rate I think it's fairly believable that she'd receive a fair amount of credit. Once you enter the working adult world, things like your recent experience and job record become much more important than things like where you went to school (unless you went to like an ivy league or smthg), and I think it is well within Spectra's abilities to fake a degree (Maybe she actually has one—we don't really know what she did before popping up in DP. Personally, I HC that she was in the human world before the portal was opened up—I feel like her identity and credentials were just too fleshed out and we know natural portals are a thing and she clearly has a way to sustain herself in the human world).

I also think any sort of backlash from Amity Park would be pretty easy to discredit—in a verse where most people outside of Amity don't buy into the supernatural (and consider people/cities that do to not be all there in the head), it would be pretty easy to write off accusations as an extension of a crazy town's ghostly delusion. This will also be addressed further in the following chapter. As far as Shepard being too smart not to notice/not having researched enough, I somehow doubt she has enough free time as director of a government agency to dig too deeply into highly qualified, recommended individuals, especially ones that won't actually be in contact with case evidence/perps/etc. To put it simply, Shepard has no reason to be suspicious, no reason to suspect that there's something wrong. That's not to say this will remain the case, but it's at least enough to get Spectra in the door. Even if, after all of this, Spectra's appearance is still unbelievable/clearly just an attempt to stir up drama, well sucks. This is a piece of fiction that I'm writing for fun, and I like drama. It's not like you're paying to read it, so if it still bothers you that much feel free to go elsewhere.

Moving on, I've also received a handful of complaints at Danny's reaction to Spectra in the last chapter. I'd just like to remind y'all of a handful of details: 1, Danny has literally known Spectra is in the building for a whopping 10-15 minutes (and most of that time has been spent off-screen). Like, give the boy a hot sec to get his shit together. 2, Spectra's introduction was entirely from her POV—we don't really know what Danny's thinking. Sure, she's an empath, but she's NOT a telepath. She might know Danny's scared, but she has no idea what he's scared OF—she is forced to assume. 3, HER INTRO WAS FROM SPECTRA'S POV. How can you be upset over Danny's reaction when you haven't seen it yet? Patience, please.

One more point and then I promise I'll get on with it. On a much more upbeat note, I had a surprising number of people who added input on potential names for the GIW (especial thanks to Nibra Ha Rishon for pm-ing me about). Initially I was just gonna leave it—I don't care enough to kill myself trying to figure out an appropriate name—but I figured I'd go ahead and take y'all's suggestions into account. I was initially trying to avoid the word 'ghost' bc I feel like the GIW likes to be a bit mysterious (and I also feel like the term 'ghost' might discredit them some), but it turns out the number of applicable words beginning with g is almost nonexistent. I entertained using 'global' (thanks Nibra Ha Rishon!), but I feel like it's p clear that the GIW are an extension of the American government, and I feel like 'general' just doesn't sound official enough (I'm also anal enough to want a hard g like gut, not like gene). I also thought the idea of using 'Watchdogs' for the w was clever (thanks, ethiopian1987), but not official enough for the real name. Maybe the agents call themselves that? Sounds like something they'd do. Anyway, point is, after a lot of thought, I've kind of given up and gone with the stereotypical/fanon-version of the name: **Ghostly Investigation Ward**. If you're disappointed in the name, feel free to message me with alternates; if I like it better, I'll make the switch and credit you.

Butch was being really mean when he picked that g.

Thanks for all of y'all's reviews and comments—believe or not, even the negative ones are appreciated. It gives me a chance to add world building and all that.

I'll shut up now

* * *

It was official: Tony didn't understand teenagers.

He thought things had actually been going pretty well. The meeting with the sketch artist went by pretty fast (it was impressive how much the kid remembered—most witnesses were worse than useless). He had managed to get the teen to open up a bit over a couple of large pizzas (ordered from the best place in the city—Tony wasn't about to eat the kind of crap places like Pizza Hut passed off as pizza), and things had been going well. The kid even smiled some.

So, yeah, things had actually been going pretty great for once.

And then Danny had puffed out a frosty breath (in a heated building no less), and a sexy redhead had walked by and it was like he was an entirely different person. In seconds flat he had shifted from care-free, snappy teen to shocked kid to pissed off, determined fighter. He really needed to work on his poker face. Tony had tried asking what exactly had gotten the kid on such high alert, but the teen had brushed him off, acting like Tony had killed his cat or something.

Tony gave up on ever understanding the teen psyche.

Luckily, he didn't have to.

"Danny, there's someone the Director would like you to see," Gibbs announced in lieu of a greeting, appearing in his typical fashion: suddenly and without warning. Danny didn't even flinch, instead rolling his eyes and throwing himself out of his seat.

"About time," Danny muttered, tightening the straps on his backpack before crossing his arms standoffishly. Of all the reactions Gibbs had expected, this wasn't one of them. Danny looked like he was preparing to go into battle, equal parts of dread, anger, and determination playing on his face. Something about this didn't feel right. Twinges of worry growing, Gibbs gestured for Danny to follow him up to the conference room.

This was going to suck _balls_. Danny had zero doubts that Spectra had been called in to see him—the world seemed to hate him like that. He just really, really, _really_ hoped she wasn't with Vlad. And that she wouldn't tell Vlad that he was effectively trapped in one location. Neither would end well for him—not this was gonna end well _anyway,_ but if Spectra isn't alone it'll end much worse. He had thought about just going to the bathroom, going ghost, and beating her and her stupid assistant into next week, but quickly dismissed the idea. What did he think would happen if a super-powered teen attacked a well-known _human_ psychiatrist in the middle of a government agency's headquarters? He'd be lucky not to get shot again. So now he was on to plan B: go to the stupid 'therapy' session, make Spectra mad, and meet up to fight her after. Preferably off base. Of course, that was easier said than done.

The walk to wherever it was his 'session' was supposed to go down went by in the blink of an eye, leaving Danny and Gibbs staring at the door. Gibbs looking surprisingly uneasy considering he couldn't possibly know what was about to go down.

"I'll be right outside if anything happens."

The statement was clearly supposed to be comforting, and Danny blinked a few times in surprise. The few encounters he'd had with law enforcement, the officers had been less than sympathetic, viewing him as a nuisance or untrustworthy budding criminal. It was kind of nice to have someone care.

Danny threw him a cocky grin, "Thanks, but I'm sure I'll be fine. I've faced scarier things than an overly-peppy woman and her dwarf of an assistant."

Gibbs just frowned further before knocking and opening the door.

The first thing Danny noticed upon walking into the room was how big it was. A long, stained wooden table dominated the room with upwards of ten black chairs lining its edges. There were windows all along the far wall, and there were a few potted plants scattered about that clearly meant to lighten up the room. Of course, they'd probably do a much better job at that if they weren't all terribly wilted, the leaves already beginning to brown. Spectra tended to have that effect on people, and apparently plants were no exception.

The second Danny's eyes landed on the grinning redhead the room felt a lot smaller.

"Bertrand, dear, I'm going to need you to wait outside. This is, after all, a private session," Spectra's grin was all teeth, the gleam in her eyes predatory. Bertrand just smiled triumphantly as he made his way out the door to wait with an already suspicious Agent Gibbs.

"Danny, dear, why don't you come take a seat?" Danny's eyes narrowed at the pet name and crossed his arms in what he hoped was a menacing manner.

"I'd rather stand, thanks."

"If you insist," Spectra sighed as if hurt but it didn't reach her eyes, "How have you been, sweetheart? How's your sister?" Danny couldn't help his rising anger or his heated glare. Just being around Spectra meant that his emotions were going to be more volatile; it was part of her charm. Of course, knowing this, Danny could at least maintain some semblance of control. Hopefully.

"It's not like you care; you tried to kill her last I checked."

Spectra sighed as if wounded and waved off the accusation, "What's in the past is past; I don't hold a grudge, unlike some of us. You have a much bigger chip on your shoulder than I remember—you're beginning to remind me of a certain friend of ours."

Danny just shrugged off the implication that he was becoming more like Vlad—he had bigger problems at the moment, deeper fears that she couldn't possibly know about. "Whatever, Spectra. What's your real reason for being here—surely after your stint at Amity you got exposed as the crackpot you are."

It was Spectra's turn to roll her eyes, "Please, that whole fiasco was entirely too easy to blow off. _The_ Dr. Penelope Spectra, a ghost? Ha, about the only people who believed that were the tabloids, and it didn't take much to convince them otherwise. Honestly, Daniel, did you really think you did anything to stop me, to make the world better? I've been living the good life for the past year, getting _thanked_ for feeding off of traumatized teens like you. Imagine my excitement when I arrived only to find my next victim was freaky little Daniel Fenton. I couldn't believe my luck!"

Hearing that Spectra had been terrorizing kids for the past year, something he was supposed to stop, was far from comforting. He felt horribly guilty—he was supposed to protect people from ghosts, but instead he'd been so self-absorbed that he hadn't even noticed one was on the loose. The only upside was that Spectra wasn't working with Vlad, which meant he still had a chance. He couldn't stop his fingers from inching towards his Fenton Thermos, fully intending to suck the ghost bitch up and end this stupid session preemptively. Of course, Spectra noticed and laughed.

"Oh, yes, please suck me up into that stupid thermos! Have fun explaining to all of the government agents how exactly I disappeared during our _private_ session." Danny froze. "Useless as ever, I see. Now, honey, how about we sit down and talk about these anger issues of yours. The Director seemed quite worried about it—you've been here less than a day and have already managed to scare the people trying to help you!"

Guilt stirred in Danny's gut—while he knew Spectra was just trying to get under his skin, that didn't change the fact that he still felt bad for how he'd behaved during his interview. Good guys didn't flip tables over being called a name. Deciding there was no way to safely answer, Danny stayed quiet.

"You know, Jazzy-pants told me a lot about you before she realized what I am. Did she ever get the chance to tell you before you let her get murdered?"

"I, I didn't _let_ her die!" Danny's outburst was ignored. Spectra's face shifted into a parody of sympathy, but her eyes still gave her away.

"I guess she didn't; poor girl always was a compulsive liar around you. She told me all about how your parents were afraid of you, afraid of your budding anger and delinquent attitude. All about how your friends could barely stand you, how they came to _her_ , asking what on earth was wrong with her loser brother, why couldn't he take a hint. And then there were her own concerns: she was convinced that something terrible was going to happen if no one intervened. And she was right, wasn't she?"

Danny fought to keep his anger under control; how dare she twist his sister's words, using them against everything she had believed in! But it was an uphill battle, especially because in so many ways Spectra was _right_. Jazz had been worried about him, his parents had been concerned about his growing temper, and his friends did always call him clueless—maybe they hadn't actually wanted to be his friends and started treating it like a joke. He could only remember all too clearly all the times Sam and reacquainted him with her combat boots, not to mention the incident with Desiree where Tucker became an evil ghost that wanted to kill him. And, of course, something awful had happened to them, all of them: he had gotten them killed. Trying to hide his now trembling hands, Danny met Spectra's triumphant grin with a hard glare.

"You're wrong; Jazz would never say those things about me. You must really be losing your touch in your old age if you have to resort to using such shitty lies."

Spectra clutched her chest in mock offense, "Why, I would never use your dead sister like that! I just think it's important for you to face the truth—we wouldn't want that anger of yours make you an even bigger freak, much less a _monster_ , now would we?"

Freak.

 _Monster_.

It was all too close to the truth. _She's just manipulating you, Fenton, get a grip._ Of course, such thoughts were about as much help as an umbrella in a hurricane. _Just, just breathe, like Jazz used to say. Breathe in and count to ten, breathe out in ten, in ten, out ten, in ten, ten, ten, ten people have_ _ **died**_ _because of you!_ It was suddenly very hard to breathe.

 _I'm_ _ **inevitable**_ _._

A knock at the door made him jump, but his relief when Gibbs opened the door was palpable.

"Time's up," taking in Danny's pale face and shaking hands, Gibbs wasn't the least bit sorry at ending the session.

Spectra frowned, looking pointedly at her watch, "I'm supposed to have fifteen more minutes."

Gibbs just shrugged, "Feel free to take it up with the Director, but Danny has more important things to do."

Spectra's frown shifted into a fake smile, "I understand—being such an important witness must keep him incredibly busy. Don't worry, Danny dear, I'll see you again in a few days. Just remember what we talked about and you'll be fine!"

Danny practically ran out of the room, not bothering to reply.

As Danny and Gibbs left, Bertrand came back in, "Looks like the session went well."

Spectra grinned, licking her lips in memory, "He was even better than I remembered."

Bertrand laughed at the thought, "Should I give him a visit?"

Spectra looked contemplative for a moment, rapping her fingers on the table in thought, "That's not a bad idea. But first, get me Mr. Masters on the phone."

* * *

It was pretty obvious that something had gone down in Danny's 'therapy' session.

Gibbs didn't like the furtive glances, and alternating anger and guilt on the kid's face. Deciding that Danny probably needed some time to cool off and calm down, he set Danny up with one of McGee's games and placed him in an empty conference room with Ziva. Danny taken care of, Gibbs went to do what he'd wanted to ever since rescuing Danny from that farce of a therapy session.

"You can't go in there, the Director's on a conference call!" the poor secretary's cries were ignored as Gibbs stormed into the Director's office.

"I'm not letting Dr. Spectra see Danny again."

Director Shepard looked up, clearly annoyed at the intrusion, "I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to call you back." After hanging up the phone, Shepard heaved an exasperated sigh, "Would it kill you to knock, Jethro?"

Gibbs' angry gaze didn't falter, "There's something wrong with that woman. I'm not letting her get anywhere my witness again."

Shepard's brow furrowed in confusion, "What do you mean? She's not exactly my favorite person, but she came very highly recommended. She's apparently helped close dozens of cases."

"I don't need her to close a case," Gibbs looked mildly offended at the notion, "The Danny that entered that room is not the same Danny that left it. There is something wrong with that harpy."

Shepard's face morphed into concern at the mention that Danny's session apparently hadn't gone well, "Where's Danny now?"

"I left him with Ziva to calm down."

Shepard frowned in thought, "Obviously, I don't want to hurt the boy. I'll talk with Dr. Spectra, see what she says, but if Danny is as upset as you say after just one session, I don't mind bringing in a different shrink."

Gibbs didn't see entirely happy with this decision, but was at least slightly mollified that Danny wouldn't have to see Spectra again, "Someone needs to look into Spectra—I don't think her methods are safe."

Shepard picked up her phone again, clearly dismissing Gibbs, "I'll get someone on it, but I wouldn't expect to hear anything too soon."

* * *

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Ziva's calm, well-meaning words jerked Danny out of his dark thoughts. He had been pretending to play some action game McGee had lent him, but judging by Ziva's question he wasn't doing a very convincing job.

"No."

Ziva sighed, unsure how much to say. "I grew up in Israel, and I was eight when I first saw someone die." Danny gave up even pretending to play his game, giving the agent his full attention. "There was a bombing at the supermarket and three people died. Myself and my family were uninjured, but I was still so angry. How could someone do something like that? If it could happen so easily to a bunch of strangers, did that mean it could just as easily happen to me? To my family? I started getting into martial arts and boxing; I wanted to fight someone, I just didn't know _who_. People began to notice my training, my focus, and decided to take advantage; when I turned sixteen I volunteered to join Mossad. I thought I was finally fighting back against the people I had hated. As I got older, I began to realize it's not so black and white, but anger is blinding. I did some things I'm not proud of because of it. That kind of rage, it never goes away. Being angry doesn't make you a monster, but anger can make you do monstrous things. You need to learn how to control it."

Danny couldn't help but look away from her frank gaze, fidgeting at her open discussion of something he had been struggling to deal with ever since his family and friends had died.

"I…" Danny trailed off for a moment, gathering his thoughts and focusing in on his hands, "I've done a lot of things I'm not proud of. I used to think I was helping people, that even if nobody liked me, so long as I was helping them it would be okay. But it wasn't and it's not and I fucked up so bad that I don't think I can go back to the way things were. I look in the mirror now and I don't even recognize who I see. And I'm just so _angry_ all the time and I hate it. I hate what it makes me do and say, I hate who it reminds me of, but no matter what I do, no matter how much meditation I do or deep breathing or how many things I punch, it just won't go away. It scares me just how mad I get sometimes."

Ziva listened without interruption, no judgement in her eyes, "It's scary not to have control. If you'd like, I can teach you some of the things that have helped me regain control."

Danny looked at her in shock, "You'd do that?"

Ziva smiled, "Of course."

A small smile slowly grew on Danny's face, "Thanks."

Ziva was about to respond when Danny let out a puff of cold air and grew rigid.

"I need to go to the bathroom!"

* * *

Talk about a heavy chapter.

Ziva's story is 100% my BS. I actually wasn't even going to include that scene between Danny and Ziva, but it kind of wrote itself. I figure that if anyone understands what it's like to start fighting at such a young age, it's probably Ziva.

Next chapter will have a much more light-hearted start.


	12. Chapter 11

Man, Danny sure has developed a potty mouth. My bad.

* * *

"I thought girls weren't allowed in the boy's restroom!" Danny fidgeted, clearly upset that Ziva apparently refused to let him out of sight.

Ziva just raised an eyebrow, her eyes glimmering with amusement, "I promise you don't have anything I haven't seen before, but if it bothers you that much you can always use the stall."

Danny couldn't stop the rush of heat to his face at the mention of his unmentionables, sputtering at her audacity, "I'm a nervous pee-er!"

Ziva actually laughed at Danny's expression, finally taking pity on the poor kid, "Fine, fine, I'll be right outside."

Danny heaved a sigh of relief, running into a stall the second Ziva left. Danny threw his backpack to the bathroom floor and pulled out his thermos—the backpack would disappear with his transformation if he didn't take it off. A muttered 'Going Ghost' and Danny Fenton was quickly replaced with ghostly superhero Danny Phantom. Thermos in hand, Danny wasted no time in invisibly flying out to the bullpen; he had a feeling this particular ghost was going to want an audience.

He wasn't disappointed. By the time he arrived, the giant glowing green wasp had already attracted a lot of attention. Nearly all of the agents had either pulled their weapons on the creature or run towards the edges of the room in an attempt to get away from it. Before any shots could be fired, Danny flew straight at the ghost, turning them both intangible and sending them outside. Of course, with the ridiculous amount of windows, the agents still had an excellent view of the ghost fight that was about to go down, but at least no one could get hurt.

"I was beginning to think you weren't going to show, ghost freak," Bertrand's mandibles (which really shouldn't be able to produce any sort of sound, much less actual words) salivated as he spoke, adding a creepy factor to his already intimidating form.

"Sorry, just had to stop to grab some bug spray," Danny fired off a couple of ectoblasts to punctuate the remark. Bertrand dodged the first couple of shots, flying in past the third to slam the halfa into the ground. Danny made contact with the parking lot with a crack, denting the asphalt.

"And here I thought after a year with these powers you'd actually be stronger!"

Danny just scowled, flying out of the crater and giving Bertrand a solid upper-cut to his jaw/mandible/head-thing, "And here I thought that after a year you'd actually have some new tricks!"

Before Bertrand could recover Danny followed up with a combo of kicks and punches, mercilessly pursuing the giant bug.

"You do know what people do to bugs, right?" SMACK, PUNCH, "They CRUSH them!" By now Danny had the giant bug pinned against the asphalt, clearly weak enough to suck into the thermos, but Danny couldn't seem to stop hitting him, his voice escalating with each hit. "I'm sick and tired of everybody riding my dick all the time! Why can't everyone just leave me the hell alone? I don't want to do this anymore! I don't want to be like this anymore! Why couldn't have been me instead of them? Why did they have to _die_?!"

"P-please…" the quiet, pathetic whimper coming from the bleeding specter was so out of character that Danny froze. As his anger faded he finally took in the picture in front of him: somewhere along the line, Bertrand had shifted back to his original blob-form, his face a pulpy mess. He looked terrified. Of _Danny_. Horror and revulsion twisted in his gut and if he were in human form he had a feeling he would have lost his last meal. Gulping, Danny quickly sucked Bertrand up in the thermos, trying to ignore the bright green blood on his hands. _What the fuck is wrong with me?_

"Freeze, Ghost-scum!" The command was accompanied by the whirring of charging ectoweapons, causing Danny's head to whip around towards the sound. Four GIW agents had their weapons turned on him, their fingers twitching on the triggers in anticipation. _What were they doing here? There's no way they could have gotten here this fast!_ Deciding not to stay and play, Danny quickly turned invisible, easily dodging the wild shots and returning to the bathroom. Hopefully no one had noticed his disappearance.

* * *

Ziva began tapping her foot impatiently, glancing at her watch for the umpteenth time. Danny was taking an awfully long time to pee. She may have relented to give the boy some privacy, but she was beginning to regret that decision. The whole bathroom trip was made under slightly suspicious circumstances; the only thing that had stopped her from barging back in minutes ago was the fact that the bathroom was windowless and on the third floor. Reaching the limit of her patience (it had been _twenty-five minutes_ ), Ziva threw the door open and almost ran into an exiting Danny.

Danny blinked up at her after the near collision, "Uh, hi?"

Ziva narrowed her eyes suspiciously, "What took you so long?"

"Is that really something you should ask someone who's leaving the bathroom?" The deflection, while a good one, wasn't delivered very well. Ziva's suspicions skyrocketed, but she just pressed her mouth into a thin line; there wasn't much he could get into in the bathroom and she supposed a little trust could go a long way.

"Fine, have it your way."

As the two returned to the conference room there was a bit of an awkward silence. Ziva had heard the commotion coming from downstairs, but her orders were clear. Unless someone came up to trade off with her, she would stick to Danny like glue. Of course, what little recovery Danny had seemed to make before his journey to the bathroom seemed to have been undone. If anything, he looked worse than before, staring at his opening and closing hands with a faraway look in his eyes; he had given up on pretending to play the offered video game. One step forward, two steps back. Ziva sighed at his despondency; how was she supposed to help the kid if he wouldn't tell her what was wrong?

* * *

Considering a giant, glowing, green bug that could apparently _fly through walls and launch a kid into the asphalt hard enough to crack it_ had just attacked NCIS headquarters, Tony thought the agents were reacting about as well as could be expected. There was a lot of running around and shouting and drawn weapons that made Tony a little uneasy—with so many flustered people it was only a matter of time before a gun accidentally went off. Tony threw a confused glance towards Gibbs, who looked more thoughtful than panicked. They, like every other agent in the bullpen, had just watched two glowing, flying _things_ duke it out in the NCIS parking lot. No one had been hurt, thankfully, but it was still pretty difficult to process.

The guys in white suits that burst into the room minutes later did little to help the situation.

"Who here is in charge of the O'Malley case?" One of the guys, presumably the leader of the group, yelled over the sound of frantic agents.

Gibbs narrowed his eyes at the rude intrusion—he had just watched these guys threaten a kid with guns and now they stormed in here as if they owned the place. "That would be me, Special Agent Gibbs. Who are you?"

The one that had yelled out puffed up his chest in order to intimidate the NCIS officer, "We are from the GIW, the Ghostly Investigation Ward. You may call me Agent S, these are Agents X, Y, and Z. We are here to take over your investigation."

Gibbs' face hardened into a glare, recognizing the name from the cyberattack, "What makes you think you have any right to take over _my_ investigation?"

Clearly offended by Gibbs' standoffish tone, Agent S did little to defuse the situation, "According to the Anti-Ecto Acts, I have the right to oversee any investigation involving ghosts or ghostly elements. As there was just a ghost fight in the vicinity, we have more than enough proof that this falls under our jurisdiction. If you'll simply give us all of your information on this case, we'll be on our way."

"In case you've forgotten, Agent S, the case involves the death of a naval officer, clearly placing it in NCIS jurisdiction," Gibbs was starting to get worked up, "So, unless you have a warrant, I suggest you get out." Agent S's face was turning red with anger, but his response was interrupted.

"My office, now!" Director Shepard's angry yell carried across the room and there was no doubt who the command was directed towards. Agents S, X, Y, and Z, as well as Gibbs and Tony all stormed towards the Director's office, tempers still high.

"Now," the Director began, sitting in her chair, "why don't you tell me what the hell is going on here."

Without so much as a glance at the NCIS agents, Agent S began to speak, "Ma'am, we are with the GIW and are here to take over the O'Malley case. As dictated in the Anti-Ecto Acts, we have every right to take over any investigation involving or suspected to involve ghostly activity. As ectoplasm was found at the scene of the crime, the case clearly falls into our jurisdiction. The recent ghost attack only solidifies this claim."

Director Shepard rubbed her temples in exasperation, "And how exactly do you know ectoplasm was found at the crime scene? My people were blocked from viewing such information and I know for a fact that we've kept the majority of this investigation under wraps."

Agent S didn't even blink, "My people were alerted when your agents attempted to access the information on our servers."

Shepard took a deep, calming breath. So much for inter-agency cooperation.

"Did you bother to obtain a warrant from your superiors?"

Agent S frowned, annoyed at the lack of cooperation, "No, there's no need to bother with such formalities."

"Actually, there is," Shepard replied with a sharp glance, "As this investigation still involves the death of a naval officer, the case falls under NCIS jurisdiction. Unless I get orders from higher-ups, you have no place in this investigation. Unless you want me to have a word with your superiors for your insolence, I recommend you provide Agent Gibbs with the appropriate information on your way out."

Agent S looked like he was about to blow a gasket, but there wasn't much he could do; he had clearly been dismissed. "We'll be back."

Tony couldn't help but snort in response, "Sure you will. But seriously, dude, XYZ."

Agents X, Y, and Z glanced at each other in confusion, clearly not understanding the comment.

"Examine your zipper."

All four agents' heads snapped down to examine their pants in unison, causing Gibbs to smirk and Tony to outright laugh. Seeing as all of their pants were appropriately zipped, the agents as one glared at Tony before storming out of the room.

"Was it really necessary to aggravate them like that, Tony?" Shepard couldn't quite hide her grin despite her efforts at chastising.

"Come on, they were asking for it," Tony's face abruptly turned serious, "But seriously, what's up with all this talk about ghosts? Do you know anything about the fight that just went down in the parking lot?"

Shepard sighed before gesturing for the two agents to take a seat, "What I'm about to tell you two is classified, understood? Those men were from the GIW, also known as the Ghostly Investigations Ward; they are the American government's response to the increasing threat of all things supernatural, but primarily ghosts."

"Wait, ghosts actually exist? Like Slimer and Casper?" Tony couldn't help but interrupt.

"Yes, Tony, they do, but they're not like the creatures in horror flicks. Real ghosts are powerful and not entirely understood. The government is currently keeping this information from the general public to prevent mass panic."

Gibbs seemed to be taking this fairly well, all things considered, "Those agents will be back, probably with the necessary forms to take over my investigation."

Shepard looked him dead in the eye, "Then I suggest you work quickly."

* * *

"Abbs," Gibbs seemed a bit more subdued than usual, but Abby's enthusiasm still knew no bounds.

"Ohmygosh, Gibbs! Did you hear about the fight between two supernatural creatures in the parking lot? I can't believe I missed it! The current betting pool has the creatures tied between aliens and lab experiments gone wrong. Personally, I doubt they're aliens—they looked too much like animals found on earth to come from another planet. There's no way alien life would have the same general construction as earthly creatures. I mean really, why does every alien movie involve the standard bipedal/humanoid model? It's completely unrealistic! What do you think, Gibbs?"

"They're ghosts, Abbs. Apparently the US government has been working to keep them under wraps for years."

Abby's jaw dropped, but she didn't doubt Gibbs for a second; he wouldn't lie to her about something this important, "No way! That's sick!"

"You got anything for me, Abbs?" Gibbs asked in an attempt to push her back on track.

"Oh, right," Abby shook her head; she could freak out about ghosts after debriefing Gibbs, "It's not nearly as exciting as ghosts though. Well, maybe it's exciting to know, but it's also sad and not something I'm happy about, but I guess exciting would be one way to describe it."

"Abby."

"Right. Well, I found Danny," Abby pulled up a picture of a smiling, slightly younger Danny. His eyes were shining as he laughed at something off screen, and a bit of baby fat still clung to his cheeks; it was sad to think about how different he looked now. "Meet Daniel Jackson Fenton, born on July 24th, 1999. He lived in Amity Park with his parents, Jack and Madeline Fenton, and his sister, Jasmine May Fenton. He was a pretty normal high schooler, albeit one with bad grades and an even worse attendance record, until a little over a year back." After flashing up pictures of Danny's family members, Abby pulled up a newspaper article titled 'Nasty Catastrophe: 8 Dead, 18 Wounded After Fast-Food Restaurant Blows.' "Turns out his entire family, as well as a couple of his classmates, his teacher, and a passing bystander all died in a pretty grisly explosion; many more in the vicinity were wounded."

Gibbs frowned in confusion, "That's only seven people; the article says eight died."

"Correct—the eighth victim is the one and only Daniel Jackson Fenton! That's why it was so hard to find him; officially, he's _dead_."

This news did little to alleviate Gibbs's confusion; why would Danny hide after the death of his family? Maybe the accident wasn't so accidental.

"Any more info on the accident or his parents?"

"Not much. His parents' occupations aren't listed and apparently the fast food restaurant's special sauce was pretty volatile, set to blow if exposed to extreme heat. I'm surprised it passed code, but I don't think it's a sign of foul play. All of their other locations used the same recipe."

Gibbs remained thoughtful for another long minute, "Delete it."

"What?" Abby looked at Gibbs like he'd grown another head, "Why?"

"Just trust me on this, Abbs. This kid is obviously running from something or someone, and whatever it is, it's big."

Abby nodded, completely trusting him, "Consider it done."

"Thanks, Abbs. One more thing: Start looking into something called 'ectoplasm'. Discreetly."

Abby gained a brief look of confusion before nodding, "On it, boss!"

* * *

"Can you please explain again why I'm in your basement? It kind of sounds like the beginning to a cheesy horror movie," Danny was looking around at what would be a fairly spacious basement in curiosity. It's only 'would be spacious' because the center of the room was dominated by an unfinished wooden boat. How Gibbs intended on getting the finished product out of the basement without ghost powers was beyond Danny.

"It's the safest place for you right now," Gibbs commented, leaving the teen by the stairs to pour a drink from his work table, "Take a seat. Want something to drink?"

Danny raised an eyebrow at the attempt at hospitality, "Can I have some of that?" 'That' being the whisky Gibbs was pouring into a less than clean mug.

Gibbs thought about it before shrugging and pouring a small amount into a second mug, "A little won't hurt." Danny was surprised, but appreciated that Gibbs considered him enough of an adult to drink with him, even if it wasn't much.

"I've got a few questions for you, if you don't mind," Gibbs handed off the mug, noting that Danny still seemed a little off from his meeting with Spectra earlier. "You don't have to answer if you feel uncomfortable, but I'd appreciate some honesty." The comment made Danny a little worried, but he shrugged it off. If he didn't like the question he just wouldn't answer.

"Fire away."

Gibbs took a sip of his drink before asking his first question, "Why'd you fake your blood sample?"

Danny looked away; he'd hoped it would take them longer to realize the truth, but he wasn't surprised by the question. He took a sip of his watered down whisky while he thought about how to respond. He finally settled on a mix of truth and lies.

"I'm sure by now you've figured out that I'm being… well, hunted," Danny looked up into Gibbs' face, gleaning nothing from the glance, "I was afraid that if you guys ran my blood it would tip them off."

"What'd you do with the real shirt?"

"Burned it. I had a lighter in my backpack and it was easy to contain the fire in the shower."

Gibbs took another sip thoughtfully, considering his answers. Danny figured they must have passed muster because Gibbs moved on.

"What happened with Spectra?"

Danny looked away, not wanting to dwell on that any more than he already had, "I don't want to talk about it."

Gibbs frowned, but let it go like he had promised.

"Why'd you run?"

Danny stiffened further, "What do you mean?"

Gibbs didn't back down, "After the accident, why'd you leave? Why not let social services take you in, or your godfather?"

"I will never go with him!" Danny spat, furious at the thought, "I'd rather die than live with that sleazebag."

Well, that answered that question.

"So… you know who I am, then? My last name, I mean."

Gibbs nodded, "Don't worry, it won't leave the team."

Danny blinked in surprise, "Really? Well, thanks."

Gibbs waved off the thanks, "What did your parents do for a living?"

The sudden change in topic threw Danny a bit off kilter, "They were… inventors."

"Okay."

"Okay? You mean, that's it?" Danny had been expecting more, both more questions and more invasive ones at that.

"That's it."

"Oh. Well, okay then."

"Are you already in the basement, Jethro?" Ducky's voice called from the stairs, causing Danny to jump in surprise.

"Hey, Ducky, thanks for coming by on such short notice."

"Not a problem, not a problem. Mother's currently preoccupied with her Wednesday night soap, so it's really no trouble. How are you doing, young Mr. Dick?"

Danny blinked, surprised to see the mortician again, "Uh, fine I guess. And it's Danny."

"Ah, so we've finally gotten a name! Now that is an exciting development. It is wonderful to finally meet you, Danny."

Danny was only thrown further off-kilter by how easy going and, well, friendly Ducky was, "As nice as it is to see you again, why're you here?"

"To take another look at you, of course! Did you really think I wouldn't give you another check-up? You did get shot, my boy."

"O-oh," Danny paled. After a solid night's sleep, real food and rest, he could feel that his healing had finally kicked in. How was he going to explain that he'd healed from a gunshot wound over night?

"I feel fine, great actually. I don't think a check-up is necessary."

Ducky raised his eyebrow, "I do believe the last time you said that, you were nearly concussed with a freshly broken nose, not mention the gunshot wound you were sporting. Speaking of broken noses, I'm surprised the bruises have faded so much; you must be a speedy healer!"

Danny blushed, "Well, yeah, but I'm really fine this time!"

Ducky looked over to Gibbs as if to say 'see what I have to deal with?' before turning back to Danny, "It's either here and now with me, or later at a hospital with a doctor. Your choice."

Danny bit his lip in consternation, his gaze flipping between Ducky and Gibbs, drink clearly forgotten. Finally his shoulders slumped in defeat, deciding that Ducky was the lesser of two evils.

"Just, don't freak out, okay?"

Not the least bit comforted by that remark, Ducky wasted no time in sitting the teen down and removing his shirt. Ducky peeled off Danny's bandage, expecting the worst, only to freeze in shock. Where there had been a gaping wound just a day ago was now a small knot of scar tissue.

"That's… that's not possible."

* * *

As promised, a light-hearted intro! Even if it only lasts for like five lines. :P

The fight scene was also fairly short, but I figure between Danny's anger issues and experience, he's probably a much bigger threat than when the two first faced off, not to mention the kid is kinda pressed for time.

So, we finally have a fight scene, Danny kinda going crazy, the GIW showing up, and Danny's super-healing exposed. Talk about a jam packed chapter.

The next few updates are gonna take some time. I'm starting to get to the point in this fic where I'm going to have to do a juggling act with all of the threads I've got going, so it's gonna take a little longer to hammer out. Believe it or not, up to this point I've literally been writing a chapter in a handful of hours, reading through it a couple of times, and then posting. I don't think I can do that for much longer...


	13. Chapter 12

Homework? What homework?

* * *

"That's… that's not possible."

Ducky kept looking from Danny's clearly healed side, up to Danny's face, and back again, shock clearly plastered on his face. If Gibbs had thought it impossible to render Ducky speechless before, he certainly knew better now. Of course, that's not to say Gibbs wasn't shocked himself.

"Explain."

Danny couldn't help but flinch at the demanding tone; he decidedly liked Gibbs a lot better _before_ revealing that he kind of sort of wasn't a normal human. He crossed his arms in discomfort, missing the false sense of security small things like shirts tended to provide.

"It's complicated."

"Clearly," Gibbs was unamused by all of Danny's deflections; it was high time he got to the truth behind this whole situation. Tired of backing down, Danny met Gibbs' demanding stare head on, neither so much as blinking in their contest of wills. Their stare-off probably would have continued well into the night if Ducky hadn't overcome his shock and begun probing the new scar tissue.

"Hey, that tickles!" Danny jumped away from the sensation and wrapped his arms protectively around his side. He had been so caught up in his stare off that he hadn't noticed Ducky move and was less than pleased over the intrusion.

"Oh, come back here, I know what I'm doing," Ducky pulled Danny back, determined to examine his patient, "Let me have a look."

Danny grudgingly allowed Ducky to pull him back, if only because he didn't know what else to do.

"Remarkable, absolutely remarkable," Ducky breathed in awe, completely mesmerized by the whole situation, "I've heard of instances of accelerated healing, but only under very specific circumstances and never to this extent. Do you know how you do it? Just imagine what we could cure if we could replicate even a tenth of your natural ability! It's clear you've had more than your fair share of life threatening wounds—do you have any idea what you're capable of recovering from?"

"Um," Danny stumbled over his words, a bit off put at Ducky's transparent desire to study him, "I don't know exactly how it works. I've uh survived getting shot in the head though."

Both Gibbs and Ducky looked up at him in horror at the notion.

"How on earth did that happen?" Ducky couldn't help but exclaim, caught up in the moment.

Danny's face immediately closed off, "I don't want to talk about; it less than a pleasant experience."

Ducky shook his head, reminding himself of the situation at hand, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked. It's just—this is incredible! Do you truly not know why you heal like this? Have you always had this ability?"

"I don't really understand how I heal like this," while Danny knew it was because of his ghost half, he really didn't understand how the ectoplasm in his system accelerated his healing; it's not like he ever had the chance to study it. "But I only started healing like this a couple of years back."

"You really have no idea why?" Gibbs interjected, not entirely satisfied with Danny's 'answers'—he could sense the kid was holding back.

Danny held Gibbs' gaze with an intensity few could match, "Look, whether I know or not doesn't really matter. The point is no one else can know, not if you don't want me to disappear into some secret government facility for 'lots and lots of painful experiments.'"

The last phrase was clearly a quote, and Gibbs couldn't help but think back to the mystery blood in the alley and the sudden appearance of the less than friendly GIW agents. Would they really squirrel this kid away in some secret facility for their own goals? Unfortunately, Gibbs had a feeling the answer was _yes, yes they would_ , and it would be entirely too easy. Officially recorded as dead, no family to look for him… who would even notice if Danny disappeared? Considering Danny's precarious situation felt like walking on a tightrope over the Grand Canyon without a net to catch him. How did it come to this?

Gibbs didn't know, but he sure as hell was gonna find out.

It was about time someone protected this kid.

* * *

Arriving at NCIS early the next morning, Gibbs decided to take the initiative. He had left Danny with Ducky and sent Tony to keep an eye on them. Now it was time for step two of his plan. Gibbs knew it was only a matter of time before the GIW stole his case, so he needed to start preparing for the inevitable now.

"McGee," Gibbs walked over to McGee's desk, two cups of coffee in hand. Gibbs placed one of them on the desk next to McGee who looked up in surprise.

"Uh, thanks, boss."

"I need you to do something for me, off record."

"Sure, what do you need me to do?" McGee didn't even blink at the implication that the favor might not be entirely legal.

"I need you to go through our evidence and erase or alter anything that could help identify Danny."

McGee blinked up at Gibbs in shock, "Why?"

Gibbs frowned at the query, but figured McGee had the right to understand the situation, "It's only a matter of time before the GIW steals our case. We can't let them find Danny. I can't tell you the entire situation right now, but I promise that nothing good will come out of them finding the kid." Gibbs' gaze was even more intense than usual, and McGee had been on the team long enough to know when to trust the man.

"I'll get right on it."

Gibbs gave McGee a small smile of approval, "Thanks."

* * *

McGee was alone in the bullpen for once, busily working at removing any evidence of Danny's identity (a surprisingly easy task since there wasn't much linking the kid other than the security camera footage). Gibbs had gone up to have a talk with the Director, Tony was keeping an eye on Danny, and, last he had heard, Ziva was meeting with one of her mysterious contacts. It was nice, not having any interruptions for once.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for Special Agent Gibbs."

The voice that startled McGee out of his work was smooth and cultured; it was the voice of a man who knew what he wanted and fully expected to get it; a man who was used to people doing what he wanted. McGee instantly disliked it. Looking up from his computer, the man in question looked exactly like McGee had imagined: wealthy, arrogant, and demanding. His long silver hair was pulled back in a pony tail that accentuated his sharp, high cheek bones and cold blue eyes. His suit was immaculate, clearly custom, and he was obviously secure in the knowledge that he was an Important Man.

"He's currently in a meeting. Is he expecting you?"

"No, I can't say that he is," the mystery man flicked a piece of imaginary dust off of his shoulder, "but I'm sure he can find the time to meet with me regardless."

McGee raised an eyebrow at that one; Gibbs was not going to like this. "You can wait if you want, but I can't guarantee Gibbs'll talk with you when he gets back."

The man just gave a smug smirk, "We'll see about that."

Working suddenly became a lot more difficult. It was surprisingly awkward trying to finish a slightly illegal, secret project with a stranger standing just a few feet away. When Gibbs finally returned, all McGee could bring himself to feel was relief.

"Who's the suit, McGee?" McGee knew there was more to that question than there seemed, but unfortunately he didn't have enough information for an acceptable response.

"I'm not sure, boss. He says he's here to see you."

Without further preamble, the man stepped forward and stretched his hand out to shake, "Special Agent Gibbs, I presume. I am Vlad Masters, CEO and founder of Dalv Co."

Gibbs warily shook his hand, noting the callouses on his palm, an oddity for a business man. "Why is the CEO of Dalv here to see me?"

"Ah, straight to the heart of the matter, I see," Vlad spoke with the smoothness and skill of a well-honed businessman, "Is there somewhere more private where we could hold this conversation?"

Gibbs didn't like Vlad's slick tone, "Here is fine."

"I see," Vlad frowned briefly at being denied, but quickly regained his charm, "I'm here to talk about a rather delicate matter regarding my godson. You see, up until a day ago, I had thought the poor boy dead like the rest of his family. However, I recently received a phone call from an old friend who had known Daniel; she seemed convinced that she had seen him here, that he was a witness in a murder investigation of all things. Normally, I would write such things off as nonsense, but… Well, do you believe in intuition, Agent Gibbs? Because mine said that this was not merely a case of mistaken identity." Here Vlad pulled out a photo from an inner pocket in his suit, handing it to Gibbs. The photo was of a boy and an older woman, presumably the child's mother—they had the same bright blue eyes and chin. "Here is a picture of the boy, Danny, and his deceased mother, Maddie. Please, if you know any information… I just want to be reunited with my family."

It was a convincing act and Gibbs might have bought it if he hadn't known better. It was easy to see why Danny hadn't trusted anyone to believe that Vlad was not the man he appeared to be.

"Unfortunately, I can't help you. I haven't seen this boy before, and I can't discuss the particulars of my cases with you."

Vlad's face briefly contorted into anger, clearly unhappy with Gibbs' lack of cooperation, before returning to his cool politician's mask. "I see. Well, I will be in town for the rest of the week should you change your mind or learn anything new."

Vlad practically snatched back the photo before handing Gibbs his card, turning on his heel and practically marching towards the elevator. This was not how he had expected this meeting to go—it seemed the Little Badger hadn't quite learned his lesson yet.

* * *

"Thank you for meeting with me, agent Gibbs," Suzanne wrapped her hands around her coffee mug, gaze lost for a moment in the steaming beverage.

"Of course," Gibbs replied after a sip of his own brew, "How can I help?"

Suzanne took a deep breath before stealing herself and looking up at Gibbs in determination, "You can let D go. I saw what y'all did at the wake; it was awful. D may be a lot of things, but a criminal isn't one of them. I know he had nothing to do with Andrew's death, and I will not sit back and let you treat him like a petty criminal. If you thought you could do whatever you wanted because no one would care, well you're wrong. I'm not going to sit down and let you persecute him."

Gibbs was a little offended that Suzanne thought so little of him, but couldn't really blame her—she hadn't exactly seen his best side. "I appreciate your concern, Mrs. O'Malley, but unfortunately I can't let D leave just yet. He's far from a suspect—he's a witness. I know our start was rather rocky, but I assure you we are doing the best we can to help him. He's not alone in this."

Suzanne gave Gibbs a good stare down, clearly trying to decide whether or not she believed the man, "I want to see him."

Gibbs frowned, "That will be… difficult right now."

"I don't care," Suzanne pushed on, "I need to know that he's actually safe, that you're not just lying to get me off your case."

Gibbs briefly looked away in thought before returning her gaze, "I'll ask him if he wants to see you. If he says that he does, we'll go from there."

Suzanne leaned back in her seat, apparently exhausted, "You know how to contact me."

* * *

Gibbs stepped off of the elevator only to be met with the sight of several white-clad agents boxing up his evidence. McGee was forced to stand to the side as they downloaded all of their information off of the computer. Agent S saw Gibbs exit the elevator and couldn't help the triumphant smirk from spreading across his face.

"About time you got here. Here's your warrant," Agent S slapped a folded paper into Gibbs' hand, clearly pleased with himself. Gibbs just looked over at McGee who discreetly nodded.

"Best of luck, Agent S."

Agent S looked a little surprised at the sudden acquiescence, but decided to interpret the cooperation as recognition of his superiority, "Thank you, agent Gibbs, but we don't need it."

It wasn't much longer before the group finished raiding the bullpen and left without a backward glance.

"Are we really going to stop investigating, boss?"

Gibbs took another sip of coffee, "Of course not, McGee."

* * *

 _Why do all teenagers hate me?_ Tony thought woefully as Danny once again cackled at his expense. He had hoped that watching the kid at Ducky's would be easy, that he'd just sleep or play video games or something, but no, that would be too simple now, wouldn't it? Instead Danny had spent the last few hours making his life absolutely miserable. Tony conceded that it might be a little bit his fault, but Danny had definitely taken the whole thing too far (not that Ducky was in his corner—the traitor found this whole situation to be hilarious and refused to intervene).

Tony had decided to start off his babysitting duties with a bang—more specifically, a harmless, innocent, itty-bitty-little prank. Some shaving cream and a feather later, Danny woke up with a face full of Barbasol and Tony's day had immediately shot downhill. Apparently, pranks were a very serious matter for Danny, so serious, in fact, that the boy had declared a prank war on Tony. One that he was sorely losing. He had given up on striking back thirty minutes in; his only goal now was to survive, but his odds were looking more and more grim.

"You can't have given up _already_ , Tony—I've faced more competition from _Dash_! And trust me, he couldn't even realize what was happening, much less fight back," Danny continued to taunt, still holding the now empty platter of deviled eggs.

"I gave up hours ago—it's impossible!" Tony cried out in indignation. He _really_ hated deviled eggs.

Danny's grin only grew wider, "Do I need to egg you on again?"

Tony groaned at the terrible pun.

"Am I interrupting something?" Gibbs asked with his eyebrow raised at the sight of his senior field agent covered in deviled eggs and his teenage witness grinning maniacally while holding an empty deviled egg tray.

"Oh, Gibbs, thank God you're here!" Tony announced dramatically, diving behind his boss. "That's not a kid—it's a demon!"

Danny just laughed, "Oh please, you started it!"

"I didn't know what I was getting into!"

Danny stuck his tongue out in response.

Gibbs sighed at the childish antics, deciding to intervene before they could escalate further, "Tony, go take a shower. You smell like eggs and… peanut butter?"

Tony whimpered slightly, clearly traumatized by the memory, before practically running out the door. Danny couldn't hold it in anymore. Clutching his sides, he practically convulsed on the floor in laughter, tears streaming down his face. Gibbs just waited patiently for him to finish.

"Did you have to traumatize Tony like that?" Gibbs asked when Danny finally started to calm down. He wasn't too mad, but seriously, this kid was gifted at ticking people off.

"I know, I know," Danny wiped the remaining tears from his eyes, a few chuckles still wracking his frame, "I wasn't planning to, I swear! But he started it and I can't back down from a prank war. You know what they say: to make an omelet, you've gotta crack some eggs!" Danny laughed again at his own joke before finally taking in Gibbs' serious mood.

"So, what's up?"

"I met with Suzanne this afternoon." That caught Danny's attention.

"R-really? What'd she have to say?" Danny fidgeted, guilt playing out across his face.

"She was quite indignant over us taking you in. She wants to see you."

Danny was currently in shock at the idea that someone that wasn't trying to kill him or lock him away actually _wanted_ to see him. He was taking too long to answer, so Gibbs decided to prod him a bit.

"I told her I'd ask if you wanted to see her too."

"I, I think I'd like that," Danny's answer surprised him; he hadn't realized just how close he'd gotten to Suzanne and Andrew in the brief time he'd known them.

Gibbs just smiled, "I'll let her know."

Danny looked at him suspiciously, "That's not it, is it?"

Gibbs' smile faded, "No, it's not. I had another visit today, from Vlad Masters."

At the mere mention of the name Danny paled, "Shit. Shitshitshitshitshitshitshit…." He ran his hand through his hair nervously and began to pace, "What did you tell him? Does he know I'm here?"

Gibbs wasn't especially surprised at the reaction, but that didn't make it any less disturbing, "I told him I hadn't seen you before, but he clearly didn't believe me. I need to know why he's after you—it's the only way I can figure out how to stop him."

"Stop him? You really think you can stop him?" Danny looked at Gibbs incredulously, "You don't get it, no one does. You _can't_ stop Vlad. No matter what happens, no matter where I go or for how long I disappear, Vlad will never stop."

"But _why_?" Gibbs was getting frustrated. As much as he appreciated getting confirmation that Vlad is at least one of the things Danny was running from, he just didn't understand. Why would Vlad go to such lengths to get control of one teen? Was it because of his healing abilities or something else entirely?

"Because!" Danny threw his hands up in frustration, "Vlad's _obsessed_! It used to be both me and mom that he was hooked on, but now that she's… now that she's _gone_ , he's gone nuts! We used to fight before, sure, and he tried to kill my dad, but it wasn't until _after_ that he completely lost it. He's officially gone off the deep end, and I can't stop him."

Gibbs tucked all of this information away for later; he had a feeling Danny wouldn't reveal so much if he wasn't so upset. Still, he needed to calm the kid down before he did something stupid.

"Danny, calm down, breathe!" Gibbs grabbed his shoulders to stop the boy from pacing, "It's okay, he doesn't know you're here. All he has right now are suspicions; the only people who even know you exist are my team and the director, and none of them will rat you out. You're safe here."

Danny did slowly calm down, but he didn't buy into what Gibbs was saying. He knew how the fruitloop worked; as long as he was in D.C., no one was safe.

* * *

It only took, what, twelve chapters for Vlad to finally show up? About damn time.

Lots of short meetings in this one; they had to happen for plot reasons and I couldn't figure out a more elegant way to integrate them, so whatever.

I have no idea what Danny did to Tony, but I think it's safe to assume that Danny is a Master Prankster. Poor Tony didn't stand a chance.

This is the last time I'm going to respond to you, critical-mystery-guest, because typing out my responses to your questions in the chapter is hella invasive. If you still want to argue about it/actually get a response from me, either PM me or comment through an account.

Sorry not sorry that you still think Spectra's appearance doesn't make sense, but you know what? This is a piece of fiction. A dramatic, for-funsies story. Honestly, if we're going to get into what's unrealistic in this story, Spectra's arrival would not make the top of my list.

As far as Vlad's concerned, obviously he knows Danny was in D.C. What he wouldn't have known is that Danny is in NCIS custody. It's only logical that Vlad would assume Danny would follow the same patterns of behavior he's created thus far: avoid the cops and at the first sign of Vlad, RUN. As far as Danny's ectosignature is concerned, it pretty much has to be at least significantly weaker in human form; otherwise the GIW would have figured out his secret literal years ago. I've always considered Fenton gear to be the exception, not the norm. So no, Vlad didn't realize Danny had been taken in by NCIS until Spectra called.

If these indescrepencies bother you as much as they seem to, I honestly don't understand why you're still reading this story. Regardless, I'm not changing it. Sucks to suck.


	14. Chapter 13

Good, God there's a lot of threads to tie together.

* * *

"Are you sure he's actually coming, Ziva?" Tony's voice whined through Ziva's earpiece, and a small crease of annoyance formed between her eyebrows.

"He's only a few minutes late. Patience is a virtue, Tony," Ziva replied around a large sip of coffee in order to hide her response from prying eyes.

"Of course, _that's_ the idiom you actually get right," Tony grumbled; he was getting antsy with the GIW breathing down their necks, not to mention the arrival of the nosy billionaire. He knew they were running out of time. They were currently pulling a Hail Mary with this meeting. Ziva had gotten in touch with a hit-man that met their perp's description through one of her many elusive contacts, but there was no guarantee that this was even the right guy, much less that he'd actually show.

Just as Tony was about to explode with frustration, a lanky man in a baseball cap plopped down in the chair across from Ziva, neck still faintly red from a last minute dye-job.

"You're late," Ziva said in lieu of a greeting, not even glancing up from her magazine.

The man just smirked, "A hitman is never late or early; he arrives precisely when he means to."

Ziva finally looked up from her magazine to stare blankly at the man, "Did really you just quote Lord of the Rings?"

The man full on grinned, "Axel the Red, at your service."

Ziva's eyebrow quirked at the bizarre greeting; her contact hadn't been kidding when he said the man was weird. She didn't think she had ever met a hitman quite like him. His face was surprisingly generic, the only distinguishing feature being his pointed nose. His eyes were a flat hazel and his skin pale; he was stuck somewhere between attractive and impish in appearance, ending up as neither.

"Shouldn't a professional be a bit more… meticulous?"

Axel snorted, "When you've been in the biz as long as I have, you learn to let some things go. You were recommended on good authority and you don't exactly look like a cop, so shoot. Who do you have it out for?"

Well, that certainly made her job easier, "Depends. Are you capable of doing your job _quietly_?"

"Please," here Axel leaned forward, gaze surprisingly intense given his previously flippant attitude, "Ain't nobody quieter than me."

Ziva feigned thought before sliding picture face down across the table, "He needs to disappear by Monday morning."

Axel leaned back, sliding the photo towards him and glancing at it before back up at Ziva with a quirk of a smile, "Messy divorce?"

Ziva's gaze darkened, "You have no idea."

Axel hummed appreciatively, "I'll bite. Now let's talk a little business; two up front, eight after, cash only. You cheat me, you're good as dead. Got it memorized?"

Ziva slid a thick envelope across the table in response. Axel snatched it right up, opening the envelope to make sure everything was in order.

"Hey, wait a minute, this isn't.…"

"NCIS, freeze!"

There were now no fewer than three guns aimed at Axel's head, one of which was held by his supposed 'client'. There was really only one thing to say in this kind of situation.

"Well, fuck."

* * *

For someone who had been caught red-handed, Axel was pretty relaxed. He was slouched in his too hard interview chair, whistling and bobbing his head to a silent tune.

"What's up with Mr. Bean?" Tony asked no one in particular.

"The last name on his driver's license is Smith, not Bean, Tony," Ziva replied in exasperation, not catching the reference.

Tony just sighed deciding to let it go, "So when exactly did you watch Lord of the Rings? I didn't peg you for a fantasy nerd."

"Abby, McGee and I marathon-ed the series a while back. It wasn't too bad, although I'd prefer a little less walking."

"Wait, so you'll watch a nerd movie with McGeek, but I have to pull teeth to get you to watch true American classics with me?" Tony couldn't help feeling indignant at the injustice of it all.

Ziva smirked, "Maybe if were a more gracious host, I would reconsider. Danny certainly agrees with me—I heard you two had a blast the other day."

Tony spluttered, "If by blast you mean explosively terrifying, then yes. That kid is evil! I finally understand how the robbers felt in Home Alone."

Ziva just laughed, "Seems I'll have to ask Danny for some pointers."

Tony's horror was interrupted by Gibbs finally entering the interrogation room. Axel's whistle nose-dived in pitch before abruptly stopping upon Gibbs' arrival.

"'Bout time you showed up—is boring me to death some kind of interrogation method or something?"

Gibbs quirked an eyebrow as he took the seat across from the still relaxed perp, "Added perk."

Axel rolled his eyes, clearly impatient, "Why don't we cut the shit and get to business. I wanna rep myself, no need to call in some shitty excuse for a lawyer. What I want to know is what you're offering. You're obviously after bigger fish than me, otherwise I'd in a waiting cell. You scratch my back, I scratch yours, yeah?"

Gibbs' face remained passive as he pulled out a couple of photos, "What do you know about these two?"

Axel looked closely at the two photos, recognizing them both from his last job, before looking back up at Gibbs, "Depends on what you're offering. If it's juicy enough, I can guarantee you'll like what you hear."

Gibbs pursed his lips, "I can talk to the DA for you."

Axel snorted, shoving the photos back across the table, "Not good enough. I want a reduced sentence, in writing, or I ain't saying shit."

The two glared at each other before Gibbs turned thoughtful, "Right now we have you on attempted murder, and of a government agent no less. We also have substantial connections between you and the murder of Gunnery Sergeant Andrew O'Malley. You're easily up for not only life in prison, but a needle in the arm, so I suggest you start talking."

Axel pursed his lips, his laid-back demeanor finally dropping to reveal the cold and calculating person underneath. Coming to a decision, Axel leaned forward over the table, dead serious, "You and I both know you're not really interested in a nobody like me. Offer me thirty years and the chance at parole and I can get you a white whale."

Gibbs leaned in as well, equally serious, "I'll give you fifty, no chance of parole until you've served out at least half that. But in return, not only do you talk, but your cooperation has to lead to an arrest _and_ a conviction."

Axel frowned, leaning back as he contemplated the deal, "And I'll get this in writing? No way of squirreling out of it?"

"You have my word."

Axel considered it for another minute before caving, "Y'all better have damn good prosecutors."

"They get the job done. Now spill; you hold anything back and the deal's off."

Axel nodded, having expected similar parameters, "First, I want to see that contract written and signed."

Gibbs sighed, acquiescing. Axel read through the document before signing and sitting back with a sigh.

"Now, where to begin…? It was a pretty weird job from start to finish."

"Why don't you start with who hired you and go from there?" It was more of a demand than a question.

Axel hummed thoughtfully before leaning back forward, elbows on the table, "He didn't give me a name."

"What do you mean you don't have a name?" Gibbs may have been annoyed before, but now he was bordering on furious.

Axel noticed and was quick to backtrack, "He didn't contact me like my clients usually do. Usually, I get an encrypted email with a time and place, I case the guy, and, if I like what I see, I contact them. Instead, I got a letter of all things, through snail-mail. Nearly threw it out before noticing who it was addressed to: Axel the Red. Not many people know that name without meeting me first. The letter was typed and there was two grand already inside. Said he'd like to 'take advantage of my services' and that he was willing to pay big for discretion and accuracy, as well as a couple of added details. There was a phone number I had to call if I was interested, but the cash in the envelope was a 'gift'.

"I thought about it for a couple of days before deciding, fuck it, why not? Gave the number a call and a machine-garbled voice answered—very echo-y, very creepy, very cool. It said that if I was interested I would receive a second letter with pictures, info on the hits, and another eight grand up front. I'd get twenty after the fact for a total of thirty grand—nothing to sneeze at, y'know? Sure enough, got an envelope the next day with a couple of pics—one of the man and one of the boy. I was supposed to kill the man, but it had to be in front of the kid. I also had to deliver a message: 'It's only a matter of time before you return to me.' Creepy, right? Like, straight-out-of-a-horror-movie creepy. Luckily for Mystery Man, I dig creepy.

"Honestly, with all of the build-up I was a little disappointed with how easy the job was. The only hitch was the kid getting shot, but even that wasn't too bad. Lost a couple grand for it, but eh, whatever."

Gibbs could barely contain his fury at the hitman's nonchalant attitude towards murder, not to mention the lack of information on the person who made the hit in the first place, "And how does this help me catch a 'white whale'?"

Axel grinned wolfishly, "Mystery Man made one big mistake—he piqued my curiosity. There might not have been a return address on the letters, and the phone was obviously a burner, but finding people is my forte. Considering the pains he went through to conceal his identity, I figured he was probably a big fish, and sure enough I was right. A little bit of back tracking—okay, a lot of back tracking later I hit gold. Literally. The guy's absolutely loaded. Billionaire level loaded. As in, head of a multi-national corporation loaded."

Gibbs leaned across the table, gaze intense and annoyed at the game the other man was playing, "Give me a name."

Axel smiled, "Why, Vlad Masters of course."

* * *

Agent S couldn't help the seething anger that was running through him. They were _so close_ to the breakthrough of the century, and this Gibbs asshole was getting in the way. He had just spent over an hour in Director Shepard's office as he was debriefed about the suspect that they had not only apprehended, but interviewed, all without even picking up the phone! Agent S was absolutely livid—they then had the gall to ask for his help! In launching an _investigation_ against one of their biggest backers!

He had tried to explain to them that Mr. Masters was not the threat here; that the real danger lied with a certain white-haired cretin. It had taken them mere hours after getting the blood sample from the crime scene to identify exactly which ghostly entity it belonged to. The ectosignature wasn't strong enough to be picked up by normal equipment, but once isolated it was entirely too easy to identify. Invisobill was here, and he had finally shown his true nature.

Invisobill had murdered someone.

In _his_ city.

And now he was acting as a parasite, hiding in some poor unsuspecting person's body so that they couldn't pick up his ectosignature. It was a brilliant plan, one that had probably fooled countless hunters, but Agent S knew better. Ghosts were nothing more than the remnants of man's malicious intent fused to an obsession—they would stop at nothing to meet their goals. Not that _Special Agent Gibbs_ or that bitch of a director could understand that. Gibbs was hiding someone, someone important, someone who probably wasn't entirely human, and it was only a matter of time before Agent S figured out _exactly_ who that was.

"Agent X, get me a warrant for a wiretap on Gibbs, and start up round the clock surveillance. Quietly."

* * *

"Not all time is like the present."

"Uh, I think it's supposed to be 'no time like the present'." Danny responded, confused by the slip-up.

"Why? There is a time like the present—the present."

"I don't know, I didn't come up with it," Danny replied, suddenly feeling like he was talking with Clockwork.

Ziva smiled triumphantly, "Exactly. Now that you've agreed, why don't we practice that meditation exercise I taught you yesterday?"

Danny recognized that the suggestion wasn't so much a suggestion as a demand and sighed in resignation. Meditation really wasn't his thing; like every other Fenton before him, Danny's mind was in constant motion. He doubted there had ever been a time in his life that he _hadn't_ been thinking about twenty different things all at once. When he was younger he had been labeled as a 'spaz' because he couldn't help but jump from topic to topic faster than most people blinked, seemingly announcing ideas and facts out of nowhere. It wasn't until he had gotten older (and learned how to filter what he said) that he had had any semblance of a social life, but that didn't mean his mind had slowed down by any means. Sitting still and focusing on just one measly little image? Borderline impossible.

Still, Danny took a breath and at least put in a token effort; Ziva was trying to help him and he didn't want to just throw that in her face. Besides, maybe it really could help with his rather explosive anger—it was getting to the point where Danny would try just about anything to regain control. This was worse than when his powers were still out of control—at least then he only had to worry about hurting himself, not anyone else.

"Danny, are you picturing a flickering flame or are you monologue-ing?"

Danny blushed at being caught, "Is it that easy to tell?"

Ziva rolled her eyes in amusement, "You're practically an open book—rather impressive, actually, considering your circumstances."

"Yeah… I've never been a good liar. I still can't believe my parents never figured me out," of course, such thoughts were always steeped with guilt. He felt absolutely awful that he had never told them the truth, never trusted them enough to actually be open and honest with them. They deserved better than to be lied to at every twist and turn.

"Whatever you were hiding from them, I'm sure they'd understand," Ziva tried for comfort; the teen obviously felt awful about having lied to his parents and it was far too late to do anything about it.

"Yeah… maybe. Probably not. I don't know. I mean, it's not like I was doing anything _bad,_ but I know they wouldn't have approved either," Danny's brows knit in confusion as he thought about how to explain without actually explaining anything. "I know they were worried about me, but I just kept lying anyway and kept doing what I was doing. They weren't stupid—they could tell that I was up to something and that whatever it was wasn't a great situation, and I think that worried them more than anything. I think the not-knowing is sometimes the worst part, but I don't know if the truth would've been any better."

Ziva listened quietly, a thoughtful look on her face, "Why did you keep it from them, then, if you wanted to tell them?"

Danny frowned, clearly lost in memories, "The stakes were just too high. Sure, they might've accepted me, but they also could've very easily turned on me instead. Not to mention that them not knowing was the only them protecting them from the Fruitloop. So long as it was just between me and him, my parents were safe. Telling them just wasn't worth the risk."

"It sounds like you were just trying your best to protect them," Ziva started slowly, carefully weighing each word, "I don't think they would've held such a thing against you. Would they be upset that you withheld information? Probably, but I think they also would have understood and forgiven you for it. I know I don't know a lot about your family, but from what I have learned, I don't think I can see them turning on you like you fear."

Danny looked thoughtful, taking in Ziva's advice and allowing a small smile to slip onto his face, "Thanks, Ziva."

Ziva smiled, "Any time, Danny. Now, back to that flame…."

* * *

"How're you holding up, Danny?" Gibbs strolled into the living room, signature coffee cup in hand.

"Me? I'm not the one left all alone and defenseless with The King of All Pranks," Danny seemed pretty proud of his infamy, crossing his arms behind his head with a casual cockiness.

Flicker of a grin flashed across Gibbs' face, "Defenseless is not a word I would ever use to describe Ziva."

Ziva gave Danny a predatory grin, easily proving Gibbs' point.

Danny shuddered in mock horror, "Okay, you might have a point there. I change my mind—ship me off to the secret government facility now, before I'm killed in my sleep!"

"Why would I wait for you to fall asleep?"

Ziva can't help but cackle at the look on Danny's face and Gibbs outright grinned, unable to help himself.

"Okay, okay, I earned that one," Danny tried to defuse the situation, running a hand through his hair and fighting down a blush, "But real talk, why aren't you off like, I don't know, beating up some bad guys or something?"

Gibbs' mouth still twitched at the corners, "Is that what you think I do all day?"

Danny's blush came back full force; he instantly regretted that comment, "I'm gonna plead the fifth on that one."

Gibbs held onto his smile for a few more seconds before turning serious, "While you're a bit off on my job description, this isn't entirely a social call."

"I knew it!" Danny couldn't help but exclaim, clearly pleased with himself, "And to think my friends called me clueless."

"Somehow, I don't think they were off the mark with that one," Ziva teased.

Danny pouted and stuck out his tongue, "Whatever."

Gibbs cleared his throat to regain their attention, "I have a few questions I need to ask you about Masters." Danny stiffened at the name, but Ziva was proud to see that he didn't make any sort of angry outburst.

After a couple deep breathes, Danny finally responded, "What about him?"

"The fights you mentioned before—did they ever get physical?"

Danny frowned, "They were always physical. I've even got a couple of nasty scars thanks to the Fruitloop. Not that he got away unscathed, either." The confirmation that Vlad used to beat on a kid was clearly incensing for the listening agents.

While Gibbs managed to remain calm, the righteous fury didn't leave his eyes, "Did you ever tell anyone?"

"A few people; just my sister and two best friends. It was a… complicated situation. It's not like anyone would believe me anyway—he's the famous billionaire, and I'm just a nobody loser."

"Your parents didn't know?"

Danny looked away, guilt playing prominently across his features, "I couldn't tell them. It would've ruined _everything_. My mom knew something was off—he did hit on her every other second—but my dad was pretty clueless. They were best friends in college, and I don't think he could see past it; either that, or he didn't want to. I didn't tell my parents a lot of important things."

"Is there anything else I need to know?"

Danny bit his lip in thought, "First you probably need to know a little more about him—and I guess my parents. Back in college, the three of them were best friends. They were also obsessed with studying ghosts. One of their experiments backfired and Vlad was pretty badly injured; he blamed my Dad for the accident and was only more pissed off when he and Mom started dating. He had had a crush on Mom for a while, so he was pretty jealous. He spent the next few years in the hospital while my parents graduated and became ghost hunters, inventing all sorts of anti-ghost tech. When Vlad finally got out, he created his own company and basically became a billionaire overnight.

"Point is he's a bitter old man with absolutely no morals, no reason to hold back, and virtually unlimited resources. He's a strategist at heart and he's always been three steps ahead of me. He doesn't make a lot of mistakes, but he's also got a pretty big chip on his shoulder. If you fight him head-on, you'll lose. Make him think he's won or make him mad, and he'll do all sorts of stupid things, like admit world-domination plans on live-TV."

Gibbs was a little surprised at just how much information Danny had shared—until now, he'd only ever shared the bare minimum.

"Any ideas on how exactly to do that?"

Danny rolled his eyes, "Don't you think that if I'd figured that out, I would've done it already? Pissing him off is a talent of mine—doing it constructively is a little more difficult."

Gibbs left soon after, mulling over the new info. He might not have the whole picture yet, but things were starting to fall into place. There's no way the repeated references to ghosts were a coincidence—the only question was how they were connected. It couldn't be something as simple as Danny being hunted by ghosts for his parents' vocation—that wouldn't explain Masters' involvement or Danny's attitude. From what he'd seen Danny simply wasn't afraid of ghosts. He was afraid of Masters; of getting taken in by the government; of his own anger; but he was more guilty when he heard about truant ghosts than anything. Not afraid. But there was a reason Danny had kept his parents' jobs hidden before, and it wasn't shame. Danny was clearly proud of his parents and the work they did—so why hide it? Did it have something to do with their deaths'? But why would Danny need to hide that?

He needed more time, time to get evidence of Masters' involvement. The hitman's testimony was valuable, but wouldn't get him very far considering Masters' very expensive, very good lawyers. He had no motive, no physical ties linking Masters to the crime, and ultimately no case.

Gibbs needed another cup of coffee.

* * *

It didn't take a particularly talented investigator to see that Danny was getting fidgety. Ever since Gibbs had left, the teen had gotten more and more jumpy, his neck nearly snapping with how quickly he swung his poor skull around. Tony, clearly looking for a certain amount of revenge, had been more than happy to take advantage of the situation, covertly setting alarm clocks and making sudden movements and noises. One of said alarm clocks rudely went off as Danny was taking his empty dinner plate to the sink, causing the boy to drop the (thankfully plastic) dish onto the floor and throw out his palm in an oddly aggressive manner. Ziva raised an eyebrow at the pose; it was more reminiscent of a superhero movie than a fighting gesture, which was surprising given that Danny clearly knew how to handle himself in a scuffle. It didn't take long for Danny to catch onto the false alarm.

"What the fuck, Tony? Do you _want_ me to destroy something?"

Tony's cocky smirk was still firmly in place, "Revenge's a bitch."

"Actually, revenge is a dish best served _cold_ ," Danny's glare was intense and Ziva would swear the room dropped a few degrees if not for the sheer impossibility of such a situation. Tony looked a little uneasy, but Ziva decided to intervene before it could escalate further.

"Tony, knock it off; no more pranks. Danny, you need to relax. Remember what we talked about?" Danny took several deep breathes as the room returned back to normal, Tony wisely shutting up. When Danny opened his eyes, there was a new found calmness in them, but not the kind Ziva wanted to see: the kind of calm that came from finally making a decision. Ziva was immediately suspicious.

"You know what, Ziva? You're right, I really do need to relax after the past few days. I think I'm gonna go take a shower." Ziva eyed the boy; there had been no mysterious puff of mist or sudden wariness, but she had a similar feeling of trepidation all the same.

"The bathroom's down the hall on your left."

"Thanks," Danny began walking towards the hallway.

"Do you really need to take your backpack with you?" Ziva called, causing Danny to freeze mid-step.

Turning around, Danny rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, "Sorry, old habits and all that; I don't think I can handle leaving it in another room yet." Ziva slowly nodded, eyes boring into the teen's retreating back.

"Either the kid's planning something, or I'm the King of Ghosts," Tony commented wryly from his seat.

Ziva glanced over at him before returning her gaze to the hallway, "He's definitely planning something—I'll give him ten minutes before I check on him."

Of course, that translated to a ten minute head start for Danny.

* * *

Man, I felt like I was writing an essay with how I approached this one: started with the second half of the middle, then the end, then the beginning, the first half of the middle, then finally the second half of the beginning. And then I had to rewrite half of the end bc I didn't write the beginning like I had originally planned. Basically, I'm a hot mess.

The Axel here is, obvs, loosely based on the one from KH. He's not gonna make any more serious appearances though; he's just a placeholder. I was initially gonna keep Vlad's name out of the investigation until later, but it just happened. Oh, well.

We are rapidly approaching the end of my roadmap and the beginning of my next big problem: I know how this fic ends, I know everything leading up to the climax, but I still can't figure out how to get from about letter p to letter z. Wish me luck on that one—I kind of put Danny in a situation that is impossible to get out of, legally or otherwise. Oops.


	15. Chapter 14

I honestly couldn't even figure out whose house Danny is supposed to be at; I imagined Gibbs' but it was kind of implied he was at Ducky's? So, since I am lazy and stressed and don't care enough to change it, we're just gonna pretend it was obvious he was at Ducky's the first night, Gibbs' the second. Yeah? Yeah.

Friendly reminder that italicized bits are flashback.

* * *

It hadn't taken much to sneak out of the house. Not entirely surprising considering he could turn invisible and walk through walls, but still, Danny had expected a little more resistance. Gibbs' house _was_ supposed to be some sort of super-secret safe house or something. Whatever.

He had gone ahead and turned on the shower to buy some time, but he really doubted he'd need it. Sure Ziva had looked suspicious, but he had lots of experience hiding. Besides, can't catch what you can't see. He would admit that he felt a _little-tiny-eensy bit_ guilty for leaving like this; he had made far too many ties here. Between Andrew and Suzanne, Gibbs and his team… it was just too much. Danny just wasn't used to so many people caring about him anymore, so many people willing to put themselves in danger for him. And that was exactly why he had to leave: there was no way they had any idea what they were getting themselves into, the kind of danger they were facing.

It was better for everyone if he left _before_ more bodies hit the floor.

He had no doubt that Vlad knew Gibbs was hiding him, and it was basically impossible to hide from Vlad if he wasn't on the move. It was only a matter of time before he showed up and did something awful to them all, and Danny honestly didn't think he could handle another death on his hands, especially not the gruesome one awaiting his friends.

So he'd leave. He'd drop everything that he'd made, abandon the bonds he had formed, the haven he'd found, so that they could be safe because in the end that was all that mattered.

* * *

"Ziva, any more pacing and you're gonna burn a hole in Gibbs' carpet," Tony said over the top of the boating magazine he'd been perusing—there weren't a lot of options available.

Ziva huffed before turning to Tony and putting her hands on her hips, "You know Danny is planning something just as well as I do."

"Well, yeah," Tony plopped the magazine back onto the coffee table, "But pacing's not gonna do anything about it, and I can't exactly charge in on him in the shower—talk about awkward."

Of course, Ziva's selective hearing decided to make itself known, "That's a great idea, Tony! You should go check on him."

Tony just turned exasperated, "Did you hear anything I just said?"

"I heard you, but only listened to the intelligent bits. It's really the only way to deal with you."

"I resent that."

Ziva just smiled, "If you go check on Danny, I'll attend your next movie night."

Tony shot out of his seat like a rocket and began power walking down the hall, "Danny!"

No response.

Tony began banging on the bathroom door, "C'mon Danny, gotta save some hot water for the rest of us, protect the environment and all that!"

Still silence

Tony could tell something was wrong and he lost his playful grin, tone turning serious, "Seriously, Danny, open the door."

All Tony could hear was the shower water splashing against the tile.

"Last chance, Danny. Open the door or I'm coming in!"

Tony braced his shoulder for the imminent collision, "You'd better have pants on, kid."

Tony rammed the door, breaking the old lock open with a pop. Of course, it only took seconds to realize exactly what the problem was.

"Gibbs is going to kill us."

* * *

Gibbs' car slammed into park, the engine left running as he stormed up his front walkway. He didn't so much as pause upon reaching the front door, tearing it open to glare at his two top agents who had managed to lose a sixteen year old kid.

"What happened?" his tone left no room for argument, and for once Tony didn't throw out any snappy remarks.

"Danny went to take a shower, not five minutes later he was gone. The door was still locked from the inside, so he couldn't have snuck past us."

"There's no way he could've escaped, Gibbs," Ziva added her two cents, clearly confused by the disappearing act, "There's not even a window in the bathroom."

Gibbs calmed down some—this was clearly beyond anything they could've prevented, "I've already sent McGee to check the local shelters, I want you two to screen the subway and train stations. We can't put out a bollo—it would alert too many people."

"Already there. Where are you going, boss?"

"The nearest bus station."

* * *

Danny kicked his feet in boredom. Sure he could technically fly out of town, but he'd elected to save his energy and take the bus instead. He'd already snagged a ticket, but the next bus wasn't leaving for another half hour. He was a little worried Gibbs and the rest would find him before then, but he figured they'd expect him to try and take the train (which was faster) or hide out somewhere in town until things cooled down a bit. Besides, the bus was so stereotypical they'd probably think he wouldn't bother. Of course, that didn't mean he didn't chafe at the pace. Why couldn't the bus leave _now_ , before he lost his nerve or got caught?

So of course when Gibbs walked into the station, Danny almost turned invisible on the spot. The only thing that stopped him was the look in Gibbs' eyes—they zeroed in on Danny instantly and had an unfortunate mix of disappointment, hurt, and determination. It was the kind of look that only a father could pull off and Danny instantly felt ashamed. _Danny, I know you're smarter than this. What's wrong? We can help, Danny-boy, you just have to let us_.

Gibbs sat down next to Danny with a sigh, electing to take a moment to think for a minute before starting in. Of course, Danny's interpretation of his continued silence was a bit different. Just two minutes in and Danny couldn't hold it in anymore.

"I'm sorry," he blurted out, unable to meet Gibbs' gaze, "I didn't mean to make you guys worry."

Gibbs turned his gaze onto Danny, picking his words carefully, "Of course we're going to worry. It's our job to keep you safe; disappearing acts like that don't exactly help."

Danny sunk lower in his seat, still staring stubbornly at the floor, "Is that all I am to you guys? A job?"

Gibbs blinked a few times in surprise, "Of course not. You've grown on all of us; I know Ziva was especially worried and Tony was unusually serious."

Danny chanced a glance up, "Really? Even after all the trouble I've caused all of you?"

Gibbs gave a small smile, "Please, Tony's easily caused more trouble in a day—it takes more than that to push us away."

Danny's shock quickly shifted to something more vulnerable and he looked away again, embarrassed to show so much emotion in front of such a stoic man, "Whatever."

Gibbs smiled at the display of adolescent awkwardness—it was nice to know that Danny was still capable of acting like a normal teenager despite all the crap he'd been through. "Why'd you leave?"

Danny was immediately conflicted. He wanted to tell Gibbs the truth, but he was all too aware of the potential consequences of doing so. "It's not safe for me to stay with you."

Gibbs immediately turned serious, all signs of mirth vanishing, "Danny, you're safe with us. We can protect you, you just have to let us."

"You don't get it."

"What don't I get?"

"It's not my safety that I'm worried about!" Danny finally spat out, running his hand through his hair in agitation. "I'm putting all of you in danger and you don't even know what you're up against!"

"Then tell us, let us know what it is you think we can't handle; if we know what we're up against, we can beat it."

The conflict on Danny's face was palpable; he was completely torn. On the one hand he _so badly_ wanted to tell Gibbs the truth, to tell him everything, to let someone actually help him. But on the other, he remembered exactly what had happened every other time he'd done so. It wasn't pretty, finding your friends' dead bodies, even worse knowing you were responsible.

"We can help you, Danny, you just have to let us."

Danny didn't want to have any more regrets, didn't want to lie anymore. Danny took a few steadying breaths, unable to entirely stop his hands from shaking and looked up to meet Gibbs' eyes, "O-okay."

"Okay," Gibbs nodded, giving Danny a minute to collect his thoughts.

"So, you know how Vlad and I fight a lot, right? Well, it's a lot more complicated than that," Danny took a deep breath before continuing, "We're both… special. Different. Not normal," Danny noticed Gibbs' confusion, "We're not entirely _human_."

Danny immediately looked away, shame and self-loathing welling up deep inside, "We're freaks, not supposed to exist. There's only two of us in existence. When I first found out about him, I was so _relieved_ because oh my god there's actually someone else _like me_ out there, someone who can actually help me figure out what the hell's happening to me, someone who can help me stop falling through the floor and dropping beakers in chemistry. But he wanted me to turn my back on my family, renounce my father and become his 'perfect son' and I couldn't do that, couldn't turn my back on my family like that, so we became enemies and started fighting and fighting and fighting.

"It's kind of a miracle I wasn't killed in the first month, honestly, I was so outclassed. He'd had these abilities since before I was born, and I'd had them for what, a month? But it was do-able. It wasn't great, but I could handle it. So long as my parents didn't know, they were safe, and I could live with that. But then everything went to shit and everyone is gone and it just got so much worse than I thought was possible.

"With my mom gone, he went nuts; he couldn't handle it. His obsession turned onto me and got so much worse. He had to have me, but I can't stay with him, I know what happens if I do and it's not good, like 'world-ending' not good, but I have nowhere else to go so I ran and it was fine for a while. I mean, it was hard, but better than the alternative. But then things started happening to people I got close to, the same kind of thing that happened to Andrew. Every time I get close to someone, he offs them, in increasingly creative ways.

"I know it sounds crazy, and I can't prove it, they were all written off as accidents, but I know he did it. And he's going to keep doing it. And now that I've told you this much, you're probably a dead man walking and it's all my fault and I'm so sorry. So so sorry. I hate this so much, I didn't want any of this to happen, didn't want anyone to die, but it's all my fault and I can't stop it, I can't even remove myself from the equation. I've already tried and it was just an even bigger disaster because I'm a fuck up at everything I do, everything I touch turns to shit and now I've dragged you and Suzanne and the rest of the team into my crap."

Gibbs remained silent, trying to process all of this information. Between the paranormal elements, the fact that apparently Vlad is a serial killer, to the sheer amount of responsibility a _kid_ had taken on, alone, it was a lot to take in, and that wasn't even considering the darker implications of Danny's emotional state. The look on Danny's face was what grounded him, solidified his decision; no one, much less a teenager, should hate themselves like that.

"Danny," Gibbs placed a hand on the teen's shoulder, drawing him out of whatever internal monologue he was in the middle of, "This isn't your fault, none of this is your fault. These murders you mentioned, are entirely Masters' fault. You aren't a freak, or a monster, or anything other than a good kid. All you've done is try to help people, even when it isn't convenient. That's the makings of a good man, not a murderer. It's not only my job to help people like you, but my duty. It's who I am just as much as it is who you are. Even knowing all of this, I still want to help you and I know my team will, too. It's who we are and what we do."

Danny searched Gibbs' gaze for any sign of insincerity or hesitation, "I used to think doing my duty was important, that it was the only thing that really mattered, but the cost is just too high. It's not worth it. Sometimes it's better to just give up."

"Maybe, but you can't decide that for us."

Danny looked away again, this time thoughtful. He hadn't really considered that possibility, that despite all the danger they'd still want to help them. He knew better than anyone the value of free will, of being able to not only make your own decisions but to have others respect those decisions. Was it really fair of him to deny them that? Could he do that to them? But in the face of so much danger, was it really worth it? What could they possibly do to help?

Danny looked back up at Gibbs, seeing nothing other than determination and strength on his face. Gibbs wasn't some weak civilian who needed protecting from the big bad monster. He was a federal agent; he'd already faced countless dangers and come out on the other side. This wouldn't be the first time he faced dangerous situations for others, and it wouldn't be the last. Maybe, just maybe, he could help end this twisted mess. Maybe he could help fix things. Maybe it was time to stop running. Maybe it was time to take a chance.

"Okay," Danny met Gibbs' gaze steadily, firm in his decision.

"Okay," Gibbs nodded in return, relieved that _finally_ Danny had let him in. _Finally_ Danny could get the help he so desperately needed.

* * *

"Are you seeing what I'm seeing, Agent O?"

"Affirmative. Daniel Jackson Fenton is alive."

"And in the same location as Invisobill."

"Affirmative. Identity of Invisobill's host confirmed."

Agent K's face split into a hunter's grin, his eyes glinting in the darkness, "Looks like it's finally time for the Watchdogs to start the hunt."

* * *

Vlad took a sip of his tea as watched his portable monitor. After realizing that Gibbs was hiding _his_ Daniel, he had bugged him to find out Daniel's location, an act that had yielded far more than he'd expected.

"Just what game are you playing, Little Badger?"

His eyes flashed a bloody red, glowing brighter than the monitor, "But no matter, one way or another you will soon be exactly where you belong."

* * *

Thanks again ethiopian1987 for the GIW's nickname!

So many run on sentences, but I feel like that's how he'd be talking. It's kinda like he has to spit it out as fast as possible, before he weenies out. Still, the perfectionist in me shudders at all of the poor grammar.

Lets be honest, there's no way the GIW wouldn't recognize Danny from Amity; I used Agents O and K to solidify the link, but yeah.

Sorry for the shorter chapter, but the next bit is currently under major reconstruction. I have Vlad, who obvs has some sort of master plan, Spectra who's a bit of a wildcard, the GIW who are about to crack down…. It's a lot to balance out, not to mention the team's rxn and the overall resolution.

Not to mention my stress levels have been jacked up from like a 6 to a 8; I don't really have time atm to be writing as much as I like to. sigh.

So yeah, it's gonna be awhile.


	16. Chapter 15

It's been awhile since I've said this, but honestly y'all's reviews mean the world to me—whenever I feel stressed I just take a looksee and BOOM, instantly feel better! Seriously though, y'all are just too nice—my ego might be inflating just a little too much :'D

The end is finally in sight! I am determined to have this story finish in FIVE CHAPTERS + an epilogue for a total of 21 chapters, AND I actually know how we're gonna get there *insert success kid meme here*. BOOM.

* * *

Strolling into GIW headquarters was a bit like going to the dentist—an undoubtedly unpleasant experience, but none the less necessary. As such, Vlad was hoping to get this visit over with quickly and painlessly. Being the fly on the wall he was, Vlad had had no trouble picking up on the GIW's surveillance, so here he was, once again cleaning up his Little Badger's mess.

A swipe of his ID was all it took to be granted access to the more secure areas of the facility, and his status meant that he was granted near immediate attention from the higher-ups. The perks of being a billionaire philanthropist, he supposed. He knew Agent S would be here despite the late hour.

"Agent S, I believe we need to have a conversation." Of course, the request was more of a command than anything, one Agent S was loathe to disobey. Lips pursed into a thin, pale line, Agent S guided Vlad into a private, ghost-proof (and consequently bug-proof) office.

"Mr. Masters, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I know of your little surveillance team," Vlad cut straight to the point, aiming to get this whole debacle over with as soon as possible, "and I know of the information you gleaned. To put it bluntly, I would like to be a part of the planning of this little operation."

Agent S had learned long ago not to be surprised by what info the cunning billionaire managed to get ahold of, instead leaning forward and steeple-ing his fingers, "And why should you be brought into this highly classified operation?"

Vlad looked smug, as if he'd expected this question, "You are more than familiar with my superior planning abilities. Besides, as mayor of Amity Park, the apprehension of ghostly menace Invisobill is an agenda that I hold with the deepest regard. I am not an unintelligent man; I have not come to you empty handed. I bring additional financial backing, access to FentonWorks products, as well as my own unparalleled advice. All I ask in return is that you do not fail." This last statement was accompanied by an intense stare, making it perfectly clear that failure would not be tolerated, not again.

Leaning back in his chair in thought Agent S weighed his options. While he generally held Mr. Masters in fairly high regard (finally a man who not only understood the danger ghosts presented, but was willing to act!), he was also wary. The billionaire's intense interest in ghosts had always been a bit strange for a man of his status, and Fenton's words were still ringing in his head.

 _So, you know how Vlad and I fight a lot, right? Well, it's a lot more complicated than that. We're both… special. Different. Not normal. We're not entirely_ _ **human**_ _. We're freaks, not supposed to exist. There's only two of us in existence._

If he was to be believed, there was more to Masters than there appeared. Of course, his source was far from credible, but something about the accusation rang true. He didn't want to compromise his operation because he had trusted the wrong man. Then again, Masters had been included before, to the advancement of all—why should now be any different?

Making his decision, Agent S leaned back forward, "I'd appreciate any help you're willing to give—Invisobill cannot be allowed to escape, not again."

Vlad smiled, if it could be called a smile, as if he had expected this exact answer, "Indeed; between the Nasty Catastrophe and recent tragedies, Invisobill cannot be allowed to roam free and uninhibited. May I ask what your current plan is?"

Agent S nodded, carefully selecting what information to share, "I have an elite team on stand-by and a portable shield in transit. We intend to strike early morning, hopefully to both catch the ghost scum off guard and avoid unnecessary publicity."

Vlad nodded thoughtfully, leaning back in consideration, "Not bad, but I think waiting would be the more lucrative option. Invisobill doesn't know that _we_ know where he is—he's not going to run any time soon. I would recommend taking advantage of this ignorance, take the time to really build up your forces and eliminate any chance of escape. It has been proven that Invisobill is slippery, tricky—if you want to catch him, you're going to need a plan, something more concrete than charging in with guns blazing."

Agent S took in the advice, nodding carefully in consideration, "What would you recommend?"

Vlad leaned forward, once again intense in his gaze and manner, "I would recommend taking two days to prepare. Your idea of striking early morning isn't bad, and with the proper preparation I believe your success will be assured. I can offer more detailed planning advice in the coming days, if you'd like."

Vlad had a good point—up until now Invisobill had managed to evade every attempt at capture. Maybe it was time to try a new tactic, to take their time and exercise some patience.

Agent S slowly nodded, "Thank you for your advice, Mr. Masters; I think it is most prudent. We'll be in touch."

Masters didn't need to know that he would strike a day earlier than he'd recommended—it was really none of his concern.

* * *

Gibbs had called off the cavalry on their return to his house, a point Danny was still feeling guilty over. Apparently the entire team had been running around scouring the city for him. Oops.

"So how are you going to get this boat out? I mean, I could pretty easily, but somehow I doubt a normal person can."

Gibbs looked back at the teen from his laptop with a mischievous glint in his eyes, "Trade secret."

Danny just scoffed in disbelief—maybe he built it twice, once in the basement and again in the yard or something? But now probably wasn't the time to start an investigation; Gibbs had been intently researching on his laptop since their return, presumably trying to find more info on the previous murders. All in all, Danny was still kind of in shock about this whole situation; the ease with which Gibbs had accepted everything seemed almost surreal. Is this how it was supposed to be? Were people actually supposed to accept and try to understand you instead of shoving a Fenton bazooka in your face or trying to turn you into a mindless pawn? Mind officially blown.

Gibbs on the other hand was facing a bit more resistance in his efforts. It hadn't been hard to find the circumstances surrounding each death Danny had mentioned, but finding evidence of foul play was proving to be borderline impossible. The first case, involving 47 year old Erin Garcia, was simple. She had had a fatal stroke in her sleep, no traces of foreign substances in her system and her family had a history of blood clots and high blood pressure. She had no enemies and no one had broken into her house on the night of her death—the only sign that something might have been off was her missing cat.

The second case was significantly more bizarre, but no less difficult to prove foul play. 32 year old David Nguyen was hit by a bus during rush-hour traffic; he had died before reaching the hospital. Spectators had reported that he had jumped into the street, but it was unconfirmed whether or not it was actually a suicide. For the family's sake, police had ruled it accidental.

The third raised the most red flags, and really solidified Danny's accusations in his mind. 36 year old Reina Gupta's death was ruled a suicide. She had reportedly jumped on the subway tracks and tried to outrun the oncoming train, a feat that obviously hadn't turned out well too well for her or the train. This might've been ruled an accident or even murder if not for the letter found in her home. However, to Gibbs' eye, the letter was no less bizarre or incriminating. To someone who wasn't looking the incriminating phrases were unnoticeable, but there were a few lines that practically screamed foul play to Gibbs.

 _No one can understand me_

 _I've been hiding from the truth for too long_

 _You can't outrun Fate_

 _It's time to return to where I belong_

It was no longer a question of validity, but a question of how the hell to prove it. And for once in his life, Gibbs was drawing up a blank. How exactly did one prove a supernatural crime in a court of law, especially one where he didn't entirely understand how it had been done himself? Danny could probably help on that front, but he didn't want to push too hard, too fast—the teen had already proffered a lot of information and Gibbs didn't want to scare him off. After all, it had only been a handful of hours since his last escape attempt. He didn't exactly think Danny was currently planning on running again, but that didn't mean that couldn't change.

The clutter of dropping equipment pulled Gibbs' attention out of his work and back into the basement. Turning around, Gibbs noted with amusement that Danny had dropped one of his sanders and was now standing awkwardly next to his boat, face quickly turning an impressive shade of red.

"Uh, oops?"

Gibbs shook his head, standing up and picking up the dropped sander, "If you wanted to know how to use it, you could have asked."

Danny rubbed the back of his neck, "I mean I'm familiar with the power version, so I figured it wouldn't be too different. It's not like I've never slapped together my parents' equipment before."

Gibbs turned up his nose at the mention of power tools, "I find hand tools allow for much more detailed work. Power tools just blast through the job; hand tools let you actually experience it."

Danny looked thoughtful, "I guess. But usually I just want to get the job done. Besides, hand tools don't work so great with metal."

Gibbs seemed to be about to respond when he suddenly stiffened, his body turning rigid. Danny's ghost sense went off decades too late and he could only watch in horror as Gibbs' normally sky blue eyes turned a bright, bloody red. Gibbs' open face twisted into a smug smirk, egotism pouring off of his new demeanor.

"Hello, Little Badger."

* * *

Once again a short chapter; if I had been thinking I prbly would've combined it with the previous chapter, but it's too late now.

(guest review) – sorry about the wait, I meant to address your review in the last chapter but forgot

Your question about ghostly law is really interesting and something I honestly hadn't really considered. It's clear that the GZ does have some sort of law system beyond Walker and his prison (see Reign Storm), but as to what those laws are or how it is ghosts go about seeking justice is unclear. My personal interpretation is that big, world ending, mass death and destruction level threats are the only thing really brought to the table. I mean, look at Vortex—it took him attempting to destroy both the GZ and the Real World to get taken to 'court'. Of course, my view is most probably almost certainly colored by fandom ideas and theories—it's kinda hard to separate the two at this point. I can't really say one way or the other how much ghost law will play into this story, but I definitely think it's worth looking into. Thanks for your excellent question—I hope I can find some way to incorporate it because it really is an incredibly interesting point I hadn't even considered!


	17. Chapter 16

"Hello, Little Badger."

Danny's reaction was immediate and instinctive, turning into Phantom and preparing for the fight he knew was inevitable, "Get the hell out of Gibbs, you deranged Fruitloop!"

Vlad merely rolled his (Gibbs'?) eyes, clearly nonplussed, "Calm down, Daniel, I'm not here to fight you. Although I must say, you're lucky I have an ectoplasmic cloaker over the house, unless, of course, you _want_ to be caught by the GIW. Your actions the last few days certainly seem to indicate that you're trying to end up on a dissection table—a second attempt to end your life, perhaps?"

Danny was trying very hard to keep his anger in check, but it was a losing battle and his hands lit up in green flames in warning, "Fuck off, Vlad. You and I both know all of this bullshit is your fault, not mine. Now, either get out of Gibbs or I'll _make_ you."

Vlad didn't seem the least bit intimidated by the not so subtle threat, "By all means, go ahead and try and knock me out, prove that you really are the stronger halfa. Of course, if you're wrong, who knows what might happen to the poor agent; his body might not be able to handle the stress of two ghosts fighting for control. Heavens knows Erin's mind wasn't strong enough; just a little pressure and their fragile organs just pop like a piece of overripe fruit. I'm sure we wouldn't want a repeat of _that_ , now would we?"

Danny forced himself to back down, recognizing the truth of his words. He remembered all too clearly the feeling of Erin's veins bursting, blooding pooling into her brain and her soul disappearing into whatever afterlife may or may not have existed. Humans weren't built to handle other beings messing around in their heads, much less fighting for control. Trying to remain calm, Danny let his ectoblast dissipate, trying to defuse the situation for the moment.

"If you think I'm just gonna stand here and let you kill him, you're wrong."

"Oh, who said anything about killing him?" Vlad grinned, but it was more a bearing of teeth than a smile; the expression was distinctly out of place on Gibbs' normally stoic, but kind face. "I can think of much more interesting ways to ruin this 'Gibbs'' life; it would be all too simple to get him thrown in prison. Maybe I should pay Mrs. O'Malley a visit—I if he'd get the death penalty for murdering a pregnant widow in cold blood."

Danny froze, torn as to what he should do. He knew that Vlad would do it; he also knew he'd get away with it and Gibbs would probably get the death penalty for his crimes. It was an impossible situation, one he wasn't equipped to handle without backup of some sort (or blackmail) and they both knew it.

Tone bordering on defeat, Danny completely powered down in an attempt to show some semblance of complacency, "What do you want, Vlad?"

Vlad's smirk turned triumphant, "Why, what I've always wanted: to take care of you and give you the life you deserve."

Danny couldn't suppress his snort at that, "Please, all you've ever cared about is yourself."

Vlad's gaze turned cold, "Even if you don't believe it, I just want what's best for you, Little Badger. It's high time you realized your situation and took your proper place at my side; it's what your mother would've wanted."

Danny narrowed his eyes, his anger beginning to return tenfold, "No way, no fucking way am I ever living with you, not after everything you've done!"

Vlad's lips pursed, "I figured you'd say as much, which is why I will graciously allow you one day to make your final decision. After that, well, I will lose my current _restraint_."

"You call this restraint?" Danny asked indignantly, "Overshadowing and threatening my friends?"

"They are still alive and unharmed, are they not?"

"Gee, thanks for not murdering everyone I care about. Oh, wait, you've already done that."

"You insolent brat!" Vlad's eyes glowed a brighter red in his anger and for a moment Danny thought he would finally strike. Instead, Vlad took several deep breathes before continuing, his gaze hard, "You have twenty four hours, Daniel. I suggest you use them well."

With that final, ominous warning, Vlad left Gibbs' body and disappeared, leaving Danny to try to rouse an unconscious Gibbs. It took a lot of shaking and a cup full of water to rouse the recently overshadowed man, but he was more alert than Danny had expected.

"What happened?"  
Danny paused, considering what to tell him, "You were overshadowed—possessed, whatever—by Vlad."

Gibbs' gaze hardened into an infuriated glare; nobody liked having their will taken away from them. Recognizing that Gibbs was not in the best of moods, Danny bulldozed ahead, figuring getting it all out now would be better than waiting.

"Can you get me access to a lab and some soldering equipment? I want to try to build one of my parents' inventions; it would stop this from happening again."

Gibbs pushed aside his feelings of violation and anger for the moment, instead focusing on taking action, "I'll do you one better and set you up with Abbs—she can help you put it together."

* * *

"Gibbs!" Abby exclaimed with a jump as the aforementioned man suddenly turned off her blaring music, "What are you doing here so late? Not that I'm not glad to see you, I mean I'm always glad to see you, but you're almost never down here so late. Is it because you knew that I found something about _that thing_ you asked me to look into? It is, isn't it?"

As always, Abby's babbling nearly rivaled Ducky's ramblings in intensity, and Gibbs took it in stride, "Not entirely, I need you to help Danny with a project."

Abby's eyes lit up with excitement, "Really? What project? Are we going to be building something?"

Danny blinked, overwhelmed by the sheer amount of enthusiasm suddenly projected towards him, "Um, yeah, one of my parents' inventions called a Specter Deflector."

Abby's eyes grew to the size of dinner plates, "I knew it, I knew it was ghosts!"

Danny blanched at her exclamation—he had avoided _that_ particular word intentionally, but apparently to no avail.

Unaware of Danny's distress, Abby plunged forward, "Ever since I identified that weird compound from the blood in the alleyway I've just _known_ ghosts were going to come back up! I mean, clearly the blood came from some sort of half-human, half-ghost hybrid and we know its Danny's blood, so it didn't take much to figure out where everything was heading. Of course, finally finding the Fenton's research helped a lot—that's what I found, Gibbs. They're absolutely brilliant; I can't believe they haven't been taken more seriously by sources beyond Amity Park! Everything's there, from ectoplasmic theory to ghostly manifestations to methodology on their removal. Really, it's an absolutely fascinating field—it's actually science, not some supernatural mumbo-jumbo!"  
"Abbs," Gibbs finally interjected, trying to simultaneously get Abby back on track and Danny away from fainting.

"Oh, right, Specter Deflector, on it," without so much as a pause she turned to the still shell-shocked Danny, "What do we need to put it together?"

Of course, Danny was in no position to answer, his mouth opening and closing and his skin deathly pale. Finally taking note of Danny's expression, Abby quickly shifted to concern, "Danny, what's wrong? Did something happen?"

The questions seemed to knock Danny out of his stupor, "You, you know?"

Abby blinked, "Know what?"

"That, that I'm, well, that I'm a, I'm not," Danny trailed off, unable to actually spit it out. Luckily, Abby was pretty experienced at putting two and two together.

"That you're a half ghost, half human hybrid?"

"Yes, that," Danny's voice chose that moment to crack, making the response come out sounding even more pathetic than he'd intended.

"Oh, yeah, I've known for about a day now. Why, is it a problem?"

"Well, no," Danny mumbled, still unsure how to take her nonchalance, "I mean, it's just nobody's ever been so, so casual about it. Most run away screaming or try to shoot me or something."  
"Oh," Abby seemed surprised and slightly scandalized at the thought, "Well, I won't tell anyone outside the team, and they won't really care. I mean, it's not like you're a monster or anything—you're just a kid!"

Danny couldn't tell if he wanted to cry at the thought that this person who was practically a stranger unquestionably believed in his humanity, or if he wanted to inform that actually, yes, he very much _was_ a monster, that he even had the track record to prove it. Of course, such conflicting emotion made speaking a little difficult, not that Abby really needed a reply. Seeing the emotion on his face, Abby couldn't stop herself from giving him a hug (which he received rather awkwardly, at this point unused to hugs and other general signs of affection).

"Now," Abby broke away, placing her hands on her hips, "What do we need to get this Specter Deflector going?"

Pushing back his emotions for the time being, Danny refocused on the present, "Do you have any Tantalum lying around here? We're also gonna need some circuitry and a soldering kit; I'm basically a self-replenishing source of ectoplasm so no need to worry about that."

As the two began to get to work their chatting increasing tenfold, and Gibbs subtly pulled McGee away from the excitedly babbling.

"I need you to start looking into Vlad Masters."

McGee looked confused, "Is this about the hitman's testimony?"

Gibbs' gaze hardened into a barely controlled fury; he was still beyond pissed about the whole overshadowing incident. He'd always prided himself on his strength, both in body and mind; he was always the rock others could rely on. Instead, he'd become a liability, a weakness for the person he was trying to help; he was determined to change that.

"Partly. He's definitely the mastermind behind all of this, and I know he's dirty. I need you to help find some proof, some evidence of his backhanded dealings and under the table operations. A man like him has definitely been involved in plenty."

McGee nodded, determination set in the line of his jaw, "On it, boss."

* * *

A little shorter than I wanted, but it sets up the next couple chapters nicely. Danny's still kind of keeping secrets and definitely not used to such open acceptance; Abby's just such a bright character, I couldn't resist the opportunity for a little fluff.

My plan is to end this before school starts, so expect updates over the next couple weeks!


	18. Chapter 17

Sorry about the wait; life kind of got away from me.

* * *

 **NCIS Keeps Orphan Away From Loving Godfather**

NCIS, the Naval Criminal Investigative Service, is usually at the forefront of any investigation involving a marine or sailor. Why then, are they keeping Daniel Fenton, 16, away from a dedicated godfather and loving home? The teen, son of the late Jack and Maddie Fenton, has been missing for over a year. Many would have given up hope of ever finding the missing teen, but his devoted godfather, billionaire Vlad Masters, has worked tirelessly to find Daniel and bring him home. "I just want to see my godson, to make sure he's really okay," Masters confessed in an exclusive interview, "since his discovery, I haven't been able to see him. I wasn't even informed when he was found! I've gone through all of the proper channels, but I still haven't been allowed to so much as talk with the boy. I promised his mother, Maddie, that'd I'd look after him if anything happened, but now I can't even do that! Which is why I'm turning to the press; if our justice system refuses to help, perhaps the public can." Masters is a known philanthropist and mayor of the small-town Amity Park in Illinois, Fenton's home town.

Director Shepard couldn't help but scowl down at the newspaper placed ever so neatly on her desk; even her morning coffee couldn't alleviate the headache that was building behind her temples.

"Excuse me, Director," her secretary called from the doorway, "You have a few calls. The white house is on line one, PR's on line 2, and the GIW are on line 3."

The Director brought her fingers up to massage at her temple, "Thank you, Cynthia."

It was going to be a long day.

* * *

Danny frowned in consternation as he once again took apart and began to reassemble his third specter deflector. Everything had gone smoothly so far, but it was clear that they simply didn't have enough supplies. He had hoped to pull off at least four deflectors plus a few ectoguns, but he barely had enough for the third deflector. He had been going through the scrapped together belts to try and find any excess parts, not that he'd had any amount of success with the endeavor.

"Ughhhh," Danny finally moaned before thumping his head onto the desk and keeping it there, "This is hopeless!"

"Danny, you can't give up that easily!" Abby scolded, scandalized by how quickly he caved, "Maybe we're overlooking a simpler solution. Is there any way we can substitute some of the missing parts?"

"We've already gone over this," Danny's whine was slightly muffled by the table, "very few materials can conduct ectoplasm, even fewer can energize it enough to weaponize it. We have more than enough of the base source, but I can't weaponize it, not without more of a bunch of stuff we don't have."

Abby frowned in thought, biting her lip in concentration, "Well how do _you_ weaponize it? You clearly don't have any inorganic additives."

Danny finally drew his head up from the table only to plop it in his palm as he thought about it, "I guess the best description would be that I focus it? I take a lot of energy and shove it through a narrow aperture, generating a blast. Kind of. It's hard to explain." Danny finished with a grimace.

With a thoughtful look on her face, Abby began to pace, "Well, what if instead of relying on the circuitry your parents' did we used lenses to focus the blast?"

Danny was shaking his head before she even finished, "Too inefficient. The gun would have to be crazy long to get a decently strong blast—there's no way we could wrangle it into a handgun!"

"That's it!" Abby suddenly exclaimed, twirling around so fast she nearly gave Danny whiplash, "Do you know what Gibbs' specialty was when he was in the Corps?"

"Huh?" Danny blinked up at her in confusion—what could that possibly have to do with anything?

Abby leaned in close, excitement clear in her features, "He was a _sniper_!"

A grin slowly spread across Danny's face, eyes lighting up at the implication.

"Was he now?"

* * *

Vlad Masters commanded the attention of a room the moment he stepped through the threshold. It was one of the benefits of power, and an attribute he held in high regard. When he entered the Director of NCIS's office, however, and was not immediately regaled he was mildly aggrieved. When, after waiting for a full thirty seconds, he was reduced to clearing his throat for the busy secretary to take notice, he would admit that he crossed the border into genuine irritation.

"Oh!" the poor secretary exclaimed, finally pulling out of her paperwork to give the man in front of her a moment of her time, "I'm sorry, do you have an appointment?"

"No, but I believe that the Director will want to see me immediately," Vlad couldn't help the slight puff to his chest, the smug smile tugging at his lips. He was a man of importance and he would not be ignored.

The secretary frowned, "I'm sorry, but the Director is busy at the moment; if would like to leave your contact information we can contact you to set up an appointment."

Vlad's jaw clenched at the dismissal, "I think she'll be able to find the time to meet with me _now_ ; just do your job and inform her that Vlad Masters is here."

Cynthia pursed her lips, clearly disliking the man's attitude, but if she were honest it certainly wasn't the first time she had dealt with rude, over confident men who thought they could push her around. But her job dictated that she remain polite, no matter how rude the visitor; besides, it was oh-so-satisfying to see the director kick them out on their ass.

"One minute, please," she gave him a thin-lipped smile; there was no reason she had to do her job _quickly_.

Vlad soon began to tap his foot in impatience as Cynthia took her sweet time moving files out of the way, prepping her desk before calling the Director who was currently on lunch break in her office. The foot tapping quickly grew to fingers patting along his arm and glaring daggers. Just when he was about to open his mouth and insist _again_ that she call the Director she picked up the phone.

"Hello, Director? There's a man here to see you. No, he's not on the schedule. Uh-huh, yes, ma'am, I told him that ma'am," Cynthia side-eyed the man, a certain amount of smugness in her otherwise politic face. "Yes, his name is Vlad Masters," her smugness dissipated.

"Let him in? Yes, ma'am," Cynthia slowly returned the phone to its holder, borderline pouting before painting on a smile, "Go right in."

Vlad flashed her one more victorious smirk before sauntering through to the office, hardly even pausing to open the door. He walked into Director Shepard's office much the same way he entered business meetings: cool, confident, and in control.

"Ah, Mr. Masters, please, have a seat," Director Shepard stood as he entered and gestured towards the one of the two seats placed in front of her desk, polite mask firmly in place. She already didn't like him, but she had little choice but to hear him out.

"Why thank you, Director," Vlad replied graciously, sitting in the offered seat.

Director Shepard sat back down, clasping her hands and placing them on her desk in front of her, "What brings you here today, Mr. Masters?"

"I think you know what," Vlad replied smoothly, "a certain ward of mine that you have chosen to keep hidden from me."

Shepard pursed her lips; straight to the point, "I can't discuss any on-going investigations with you. In this instance, the 'ward' in question is a key witness and he was not in the system. If I remember correctly, you had him declared _dead_ ; such a declaration hindered both our identification of him as well as our investigation. For someone who believed the boy to be dead you were awfully quick to track him down and throw a fit about his return."

Vlad's eyes narrowed at the subtle accusation, but was undeterred, "I do admit that I was mistaken in assuming Daniel's death; it was not until a close friend informed me that she had just seen a boy identical to Daniel that I even began to hope that he was still alive. I immediately flew here to see for myself. And of course it turns out I was right to do so. However, despite confronting _Special Agent_ Gibbs, Daniel still is not in my care. The Fentons were incredibly close family friends, and it is important to both myself and their final wishes that Daniel is returned to me where he belongs."

The Director leaned forward over her desk, gaze still intense, "If you are in fact a close family friend, why did Danny run? Why didn't he go to you?"

Vlad raised his eyebrow briefly at the slip—she had called him _Danny_ ; such a familiar address was… unexpected. But not insurmountable.

"I'm afraid that… after the loss of his parents, I pushed him too hard in my grief. I drove him away, and I will forever have to live with that guilt. But my affection is genuine; I only want what's best for the boy."

The Director softened a bit at the response; although she certainly didn't trust the man (there was clearly more to the story than he was saying), but it was clear that his affection for Danny was genuine. Sure, Danny didn't seem to like the man, but he _was_ a teenager; and it's not like the current situation was sustainable. At some point, Danny was going to have to live somewhere, and, legally, that somewhere was with Masters. Perhaps it would be better to slowly reintroduce the two; start with a few small meetings now so that neither were overwhelmed later. Still, ultimately it would be up to Danny as to where they proceeded from here. She might not understand the situation right now, but she was willing to hear both sides before making a decision. For now, she would buy Danny time. She would search for explanations later.

"I can understand your… emotional investment in this situation. But I think you'll agree with me that we need to act carefully. Going to the press does not help."

"On the contrary," Vlad leaned forward, intent on getting what he wanted, "Going to the press is the only reason you're even listening to me now. If need be I will do much more than simply publish an article. Dr. Spectra has already agreed to release a statement reaffirming the need for Daniel's return to my care; he needs to heal in a familiar environment with his loving Godfather. And I'm sure your superiors will understand when NCIS gets the smear campaign of the century, especially when it can so easily be avoided."

The Director's eyes narrowed at the poorly veiled threat, reassessing her view of the man in front of her; what was it about Danny that made this so important? And why was his mention of Dr. Spectra setting off all sorts of alarms?

"Well, regardless, Danny is currently a material witness in an on-going murder investigation," her voice icy in her response, "he is to remain in NCIS custody until that investigation is closed, and no amount of bad press or bartering is going to change that."

Vlad made sure to slam the door on his way out.

* * *

Director Shepard was growing more frustrated with each passing moment, somehow managing to find the time to rap her nails across her lacquered desk and huff in annoyance despite the tidal wave of phone calls, both from her many 'bosses' and news organizations looking to get in on a scoop. She had called for Gibbs and the boy an _hour_ ago, and they still hadn't arrived. She knew Gibbs wasn't exactly fond of authority, but surely even he could see how time sensitive the current situation was.

So, when Gibbs finally did barge into her office, interrupting a phone call no less, she simply hung up and forewent the usual reprimand. There wasn't time.

"Glad to know you finally found the time to meet with your boss."

Okay, maybe she had a little time.

Gibbs just gave her a flat stare while Danny just nervously shifted from foot to foot, not entirely sure why he had been summoned to her office.

"Was there a reason you interrupted my investigation?"

The Director pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a long sigh, "Yes, actually. Will you two please sit down, there's a lot we need to discuss."

Shepard almost smiled at the utterly awkward, teenager-y sight of Danny flopping into the chair, limbs splayed across the plush fabric. Gibbs was much more dignified in his seating.

"Have either of you seen today's paper?"  
"Please, I'm a teenager, when do I _ever_ read the paper?" Danny rolled his eyes at the thought.

Shepard's lip twitched in amusement before quickly turning serious and plopped the newspaper where they could both clearly read the headline, "Well you might want to give it a try."

Danny's jaw dropped whereas Gibbs just looked annoyed, "Did you call us up here for PR drama?"

"It's not that simple," Shepard sent Gibbs a dirty look, "I have been assured that this is only the start of a very long, very unsightly smear campaign should Danny not be returned to Masters. And, based off our most recent meeting, a smear campaign is only the beginning."

Danny's face had turned significantly more pale—this was all a prelude to this Director just forking him over to his arch-enemy. Director Shepard took in the pale face, clenched fists, and made a snap decision. Masters would not be getting his hands on Danny if she had any say in the matter.

"Of course, that didn't stop me from reminding him that, as a material witness in an ongoing investigation, you aren't going anywhere."

Danny's surprise was palpable; he doubted he'd ever get used to authority figures actually standing up for him, "Uh, thanks, I guess."

The Director folded her fingers together and leaned onto her desk, "However, if you don't talk with us, don't tell us what's going on, there's very little we can do after the investigation's conclusion to keep you from him."

Danny looked away from her, shifting almost instantly from awkward teen to tired old man, "Look, I'm working on the whole trust thing, but I don't think I'm ready to talk with you about this."

Shepard looked him up and down, considering, "Fine, so long as you're talking with someone, I guess I can let that go for now."

Danny visibly slumped in relief, "Is that it?"

"No, actually," Shepard frowned again in thought, "This next bit has to do with Dr. Spectra."

Danny's face contorted into a scowl at the name, anger written in every line of his face. (The Director took a moment to marvel at how someone so open could also be so secretive, but decided now was not the time).

"I heard about how your last session with her went, so I started digging. There's not enough for a strong case, but there's plenty of shady dealings and unfortunate side effects to her 'therapy,'" Shepard couldn't help but mirror Danny's scowl; she hated authority figures who prayed on the weak. "I'm convinced there's something sinister going on with her, but I can't prove it."

"Then why even bring it up?" Danny asked, arms drawn up across his chest, "What does it even matter if you can't _do_ anything about it?"

Shepard leveled him with an intense gaze, "I bring it up because I have a plan to stop her, but I need your help."

* * *

Yea, admittedly I have little to no understanding of guns or lenses or any of that science-y nonsense, so if the ectogun bit doesn't actually make any sense uhhh oops?

God all of these Shepard scenes were hard to get out; this chapter was going to be longer, but I'm just itching to finally post a new chapter so here we are. Hopefully now that I've gotten the ball rolling I can get these out quicker.

Regardless, this WILL get finished; everything's mapped out, it's just a matter of getting it on the page.


	19. Chapter 18

Danny couldn't stop fidgeting. Sitting and waiting for the bad guy—er, gal—to come to him was just weird on so many levels, not to mention the wire cleverly hidden under his baggy shirt. It was a simple plan really, agree to another 'session' with Spectra and goad her into admitting to screwing over her other patients on record. Just without bringing up the whole "I'm a ghost that's been feeding off their negative emotions and basically sucking out their soul" part. Simple.

Easy as fudge, right?

Danny began drumming his fingers against the table impatiently, glaring at the clock for not moving faster—he still had another five minutes before Spectra was supposed to show. It took an inhuman amount of patience to watch the seconds oh so slowly tick down. The minute hand was creeping forward, seconds away from reaching his goal before the door popped open with a snap, causing Danny to jump in surprise as his intense focus was shattered. Spectra smirked at the reaction, enjoying the jump in his anxiety.

 _Keep it cool, Fenton. She might be able to read your emotions, but she has no clue what you're thinking. Just don't say anything stupid._

"Why hello, Daniel; it's a pleasure to see you again," Spectra's smile was more a baring of teeth than an expression of mirth, predatory and excited all in one.

"How's Bertrand doing?" Danny wanted to shove the snarky question right back in his mouth; so much for not saying anything stupid.

Spectra waived the question away as she sat down in the chair across from him, "Oh you know how it goes when you're in over your head; sometimes you just need to know when to give up. But I'm sure you know all too well _exactly_ how Bertrand felt, don't you Danny?"

Danny couldn't help his sudden rise in anger and anxiety at the question—after all _he_ was the one who had beaten Bertrand into a bloody pulp and then shoved him into the thermos. Taking a deep breath, Danny worked to keep his cool; it wouldn't do him any good to fly off the handle just yet.

"I don't know, Spectra, sounds like you have a lot of experience with that kind of situation. Ever considered taking a permanent vacation to fuck-off-land?"

Recognizing that her current line of questioning wasn't working quite as well as she'd hoped, Spectra opted to change the topic, "Now, dear, there's no need to lash out at me. I'm just trying to help you! Then again, you do have such a bad habit of pushing away everyone who's ever even pretended to love you. Why don't we explore that for today?"

"How about we _don't?"_ Danny didn't especially want to follow this line of questioning, but he was struggling a bit to gain control of this conversation.

"Oh, I insist," Spectra couldn't help but lick her lips in anticipation, leaning forward across the all-too-narrow table, "How's your time with these _special agents_ going? Still running away from all of your problems, or are you dragging them into danger again?"

Danny could feel his anger rising with every word, the flood of emotion becoming more and more difficult to control. _Just, deep breaths, Fenton. Really, really deep breaths; you gotta keep your cool, there's too much at risk for you to have another five-year-old temper tantrum right now._ Successfully pushing his anger to the side for now, Danny adopted a nonchalant pose, leaning back in his chair as if unaffected.

"As if; I scratch their back, they let me walk outta here. Like you'd know anything about how being a witness works. It's almost like you're new at this."

For once it was Spectra who was starting to get annoyed; this was _not_ how this meeting was supposed to go. Danny's misery was still there, sure, but it wasn't the dominant emotion anymore, just tantalizingly out of reach. She'd just have to redirect the conversation _again_.

"Oh honey, you and I both know this is far from the first time I've gotten to play with treats—I mean _victims_ —like you," her sugary voice and overly sympathetic smile were at odds with the hungry gleam in her gaze, "Do I need to remind you of just how many people I've manipulated and broken, how many people _you've failed?_ "

Bingo.

Danny couldn't help but grin, his triumph at getting her admission overriding his guilt, "Do tell, exactly how have I failed them?"

Spectra was confused. This should topic should be smothering him with guilt, but all she could sense was excitement and… _triumph_? Maybe he was misinterpreting? Should she be more explicit? She paused, eyeing the boy in front of her who was suddenly and uncharacteristically unreadable, unsure how to proceed.

"What, you _scared_ or something? Afraid that you're _in over your head_?" Danny goaded, hoping she'd take the bait.

"Fine, you want the dirty details? Do you want to hear how I picked apart their every fear, preyed on their doubt and uncertainty until they were so confused that they couldn't help but believe whatever I told them? Do you want to know how many just couldn't come back, just gave up like you did _months_ ago? How about all the awards and accolades I received on the backs of the traumatized, how many Daniel's I had to crush before climbing to the top of my field? Is that what you want to talk about, _dear_? All the people you've failed that you've never even met? You're a disease, like every other ghost out there, _just like_ me, only now you're in over your head with nowhere to turn. How does it feel to know that your very existence destroys the lives of everyone around you?"

By the end of her rant Spectra was mildly out of breath, standing out of her chair and leaning menacingly over table in order to further cow the _insipid, stupid little—_

"Thanks, Spectra."

Spectra couldn't help but stare blankly at the smug boy in front of her.

"What."

Grinning, Danny pulled out the wire, "You really helped a guy out for once!"

Spectra's shock was rapidly shifting into anger, her human disguise quickly fading as she became more and more incensed.

"Why you little…."

Danny simple stood and stretched briefly, "Man have I been looking forward to this."

Plopping the wire on the table, Danny changed forms before charging Spectra just as she dropped any pretense of being human, intangibly shoving her through the wall and into the courtyard. Spectra righted herself before slamming into concrete, screeching as she immediately charged Danny.

Danny rolled with the momentum, pushing Spectra away from his body for a clear shot. The loud pop that echoed in the courtyard was rather satisfying, watching Spectra clutch her shoulder as ectoplasm poured out the wound even more so.

"So you brought your little human friends out to play, huh? You really are stupid, aren't you?" Spectra growled before attempting to flying towards Tony as he and Ziva left their cover for a better shot.

With a rather wicked cackle Spectra sped towards the very human agent, already excited about her imminent overshadowing of the poor sod. Of course, this excitement didn't last long as, as soon as her claws touched him, she felt sharp electricity rush through her body, shooting her back across the courtyard.

"Not so stupid now, huh? Must be a real shock for you!"

Spectra's face twisted into a snarl as she quickly picked herself up. While that might have hurt, she was far from done. The stupid gunshot wound had already healed over; regular weapons were little more than a minor inconvenience for a ghost, especially one who had been feeding off of misery and fear for the last couple years.

"I'll admit, you've grown into quite the little snot," Spectra's hands glowed with ecto-energy, "but you always were the dumbest in your little posse."

Without hesitation Spectra began rapidly hurling ectoblasts at the two agents who were forced into some truly creative dodging to avoid the blistering projectiles. Charging in with a yell, Danny aimed a flying kick right at Spectra's face, demanding her attention and buying some cover for his friends. Spectra smoothly dodged to the side, returning the favor by clawing at his abdomen. Rather than dodging, and thus giving her space to shoot his backup, Danny simply turned his torso to mist, essentially splitting himself in two and letting her fingers rake through air. Without giving her a chance to recover, Danny followed through with his momentum and grabbed her shoulders, flinging her into the concrete below and followed up with a few ectoblasts of his own for good measure.

"Face it Spectra, you're _toast_!" Danny couldn't help crowing at the small dust cloud that was Spectra's landing. His mirth quickly faded, however, as the dust cleared and Spectra wasn't there.

Immediately on alert, Danny's eyes darted around the courtyard, waiting tensely for her to strike.

"Uh, did she run away or something?" Tony called out, not used to his enemies being able to disappear.

"Were you not listening during the briefing, Tony? Of course she didn't just leave! Can you stop running your mouth and please fo—" Ziva didn't get to finish her sentence as an ectoblast shot out of thin air, clipping her shoulder as she dodged just a hair too slow.

"Ziva!" Tony ran over to cover her as she clutched her shoulder with one hand, gun at the ready in the other and crouched defensively.

"I'm fine, Tony, don't let her distract you!"

Sure enough, in the aftermath of Ziva's injury Spectra scored her claws deep into Danny's back before shooting him with another blast, sending him flying.

"Even when you're prepared you still fail! How pathetic," Spectra crowed, visibly growing stronger off of Danny's response.

Danny pulled himself out of the small crater he landed in, back aching and head pounding, but determined, "I may be a fuck-up, but I can still beat you. Don't you get it Spectra? I may not be the smartest or the strongest or whatever, but I will always stand in your way and I will always win."

Spectra's eyes narrowed, clearly annoyed at his ability to rally, and raced towards him with another screech of rage, claws extended. This time Danny was ready, but just as he was about to put up a shield another shot rang out, much deeper than the one before, and an acid green bullet flew across the courtyard and slammed Spectra right in the chest. She was sent hurling back in the air, clutching at her chest in dismay—where had that anti-ecto gunshot even come from? Before she could recover, Danny flew in with a series of kicks and punches, easily beating her down now that he was without distractions and she was preoccupied by pain.

An especially strong punch sent Spectra reeling, giving Danny the time to grab the thermos off his waist and take aim.

"Sucks to suck!" he crowed as Spectra was sucked into the thermos, her screech ringing in the courtyard.

Thermos firmly capped, Danny gave it a good shake before floating back down to Tony and Ziva. Before Danny could open his mouth, Tony beat him to it.

"Toast? Really? That's the best you could come up with?" Tony's eyebrows were raised in incredulity.

Danny couldn't stop his blush before promptly making a face, "It was in the heat of the moment! Besides, toast is awful, it's right up there with fruitloops."

"Fruitloops, right, of course."

Danny rolled his eyes, quickly changing the topic, "Are you okay, Ziva?"

"I'm fine, it's really not as bad as I thought it'd be," Ziva replied with a fair amount of nonchalance, but it was still clear that she was in pain.

"Let me see, maybe I can help," Danny's hands hovered over her shoulder in concern, "I _do_ have experience with ecto-burns, y'know."

Ziva hesitated briefly before relenting, removing her hand from the burn. Her shoulder was an angry red, a few blisters forming around the center of the wound while the edges were already beginning to crust over. It looked pretty nasty, but overall could've been much, much worse. If she hadn't moved when she did… Danny shuddered at the thought.

She could've died. Because of him. He didn't even need Vlad's nonsense to get his friends murdered.

"Danny?" Ziva's voice dragged him away from his train of thought and Danny shook his head to clear his mind of what-if's.

"Sorry, I spaced there for a bit. Here," Danny accessed his ice powers, covering the burn in a thin layer of ice, "That should be enough until Ducky gets a chance to look at it."

"Thanks," Ziva replied with a small smile.

"Speaking of injuries," Gibbs announced as he walked into the courtyard, modified ecto-sniper in hand, "your back looks pretty gnarly."

Danny blinked a few times, his adrenaline beginning to fade and his back brgan to give him some rather insistent reminders that Spectra certainly did not go down without a fight. Glancing over at his back, Danny simply shrugged, "It looks worse than it is; it'll probably be gone by morning, faster if I eat something."

Gibbs looked skeptical, "Ducky's still going to take a look."

Danny huffed in annoyance, "Look, I know you're just trying to help, but could you maybe not treat me like a kid? I've been fighting off Spectra and worse for years on my own; these scratches are nothing compared to some of the injuries I've gotten on the job. If I say I'm fine, then _I'm fine_. Stop acting like I'm about to break at the slightest touch!"

Gibbs crossed his arms and his eyes hardened, "You might have been on your own before, but you aren't now, now you're a part of a team, and part of being on a team is playing by our rules. It's not a matter of weakness, it's about knowing your limits and knowing when you're in over your head."

 _You're a disease, like every other ghost out there, just like me, only now_ _ **you're in over your head**_ _with nowhere to turn. How does it feel to know that your very existence destroys the lives of everyone around you?_

Danny began shaking in anger, all the emotion he had managed to shove aside during the interview returning with a vengeance and further spurred on by his guilt over Ziva's wound.

"I am _not_ in over my head! And you know what, Gibbs? Why don't you just mind your own goddam business? You're not my friend, and you're not my Dad—you barely even know me! All you are is a liability; I can take care of my own goddam self! If not for you, I wouldn't be in this cluster fuck; I would be halfway across the country, literally free as a bird. If not for your unwanted and unasked for meddling in my already screwed up half-life, I wouldn't be trapped between going with the asshole that tried to kill my father and literally turn into the biggest threat to humanity's existence EVER; or go with the psychopathic government agency so they can cut me open and conduct 'lots and lots of painful experiments' just to see how I tick! So, you know what? Thanks, Gibbs, for making my already miserable half-life that much worse," Danny was panting by the end of his rant, fists clenched at his sides and hair sticking out at odd angles from frantically pulling at it. For once, Gibbs' face was completely blank, not the stoic front he usually put up, but completely empty.

"Boss?" Tony asked hesitantly, looking between the clearly pissed (but rapidly deflating) teen and an… off-looking Gibbs. He really didn't think he'd ever seen Gibbs so upset before; Tony'd seen him mad, of course. Sad? Check. Disappointed? Check. Betrayed, even? Check. But personally offended? Not so much.

Tony's voice seemed to snap Gibbs out of whatever train of thought he'd been stuck in, "You know what? You're right, I'm not your Dad. But that doesn't mean I don't care about what happens to you. You may not be a kid, but you still need to _grow up_."

Danny couldn't meet his gaze, instead staring intently at the far wall, "Whatever."

 _You do have such a bad habit of pushing away everyone…_

 _Good going, Fenton._

* * *

Ohmygod did those scenes run away from me. This chapter was going to include like 4 more plot points but this is already so long and I don't have another good stopping point for the next few scenes, so y'all will just have to wait!

To the guest who asked about Danny's age: I know that, if you use the show's air dates as reference, Danny would definitely be an adult by the time NCIS rolled round. However, that's not the timeline I'm using for this particular story. I don't have an exact year pegged, but I feel like Danny Phantom already has enough anachronistic tech and the like that it could easily be pulled into like 2010-2014 w/e (ohmygod when did NCIS even first start airing?). For the sake of the story, Danny met the team about 2ish years after the events of TUE. TUE went down when Danny was 14, making him 16 in this fic. Yes, there are some holes with this timeline, no, I'm not going to bother trying to fix them.

I hope that answers your question and I'm sorry that wasn't clear.

And to the other guest who commented on how Abby and McGee canonically shared a keyboard to stop a hacker (and thus making my far-fetched pseudo-science bs sound less ridiculous), holy shit you are so right. I had totally forgotten about that scene being a real thing that happened :')


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